


This side reflected

by Jinxgirl



Series: If I don't belong series [2]
Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer (Comics), Buffy the Vampire Slayer (TV)
Genre: F/F, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-28
Updated: 2019-07-06
Packaged: 2019-09-01 23:57:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 23
Words: 91,550
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16775521
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jinxgirl/pseuds/Jinxgirl
Summary: Sequel to If I don't belong. The Sunnydale gang have formed a new Slayer training headquarters. When a rogue Slayer's misdeeds come to their attention, it is up to Faith and Buffy to find her and try to bring her to justice, even as they fumble to define the new boundaries of their relation to each other. But what if what is right and what is just are two different things- or if they cannot agree on which is which?





	1. Chapter 1

Author notes: I do not own any characters with the exception of Verity Catlett, an original character. 

Prologue 

The child squatted with unusual grace beside the shallow hole in the ground, shoulders straight in spite of her body’s positioning, and studied her recently finished work. The shovel she had used to dig was small, but it had taken her little effort to dig a large enough space for her intended purpose. She was slight of build even for her thirteen years, but recently, inexplicably, she had grown stronger than she allowed any others to observe.

Some children might have been bothered by such a sudden and unexpected development of ability. After all, the girl had only started her period a few weeks before the change came, and as much as teachers emphasized body transformations, being able to lift more than three times her body weight had not been something teachers had mentioned in health classes. But Verity Catlett was somewhat different than other girls her age, and she had regarded her newfound strength not as shocking or frightening, but simply something she deserved, something owed to her to mark how very special, compared to others, that she had always believed herself to be. 

Judging the hole to be sufficient in both depth and width, she reached back behind herself, pulling forward the black trash bag she had taken with her into the cemetery grounds. She looked around herself calmly, making certain once more that she was unobserved, although she had been careful to choose a spot in a neglected, far off corner of the sprawling property, where others were unlikely to linger or even visit. Reassured that she was alone, she withdrew from the bag the stiffened, discolored body of the dead cat she had concealed inside it, allowing it to drop with an unceremonious gesture into its makeshift grave.

Before beginning the work of covering the cat over with the freshly dug dirt beside her, Verity took a moment to admire her completed accomplishment. For this was no beloved pet, dead of natural causes, nor an unfortunate victim of a hit and run. Her eight year old cousin’s brand new kitten had been strangled with a heavy loop of rope, its once soft and fluffy fur stripped off its body and separated into tufts in the trash bag. Verity had not disliked the cat; she had no feelings towards animals, one way or the other. She had simply wanted to hear the noises it would make when it was frightened and in pain. She wanted, as she always did, to watch the look of its eyes as death first struck. 

And as for the skinning? Well, she had been curious how a cat would look, underneath all of its fur. The answer was unimpressive. She would try something else, with her next chosen victim. Something more interesting, something new.

Throwing the trash bag over top of the cat, covering it from view, Verity stood, getting to work covering the cat completely. Smoothing the dirt across the now slightly sunken surface, she scuffed it with her feet, blending the ground over the grave until it appeared as beaten and unremarkable as the surrounding areas. 

Stepping back, Verity’s lips, shimmering with flavored gloss, curved into a satisfied smile.

“Rest in peace,” she said aloud, although she had no such wish or belief. It was part of her routine now, automatic and barely thought of. 

Turning, shovel in hand, she walked away, as unhurried and undisturbed as a child walking home from soccer practice or ballet. And for anyone who happened to come across her, this was exactly the assumption they might make.

That was what Verity counted on. This was exactly what had allowed her to do as she wished, undetected, for the past nine years.

88

The first time Verity killed a human being, she was not yet five years old.

It wasn’t the first time she had taken a life, even then. She had taken pleasure before then in squashing bugs on the sidewalk, tearing wings off moths and butterflies her chubby child’s fingers could manage to catch. On two occasions, a kitten and a hamster had died while unfortunate enough to be alone with her. With the hamster, Verity had stomped it to death in a fit of anger after it bit her, then hid the body at the very bottom of the outside trash can, as far down as her arm could reach. She had then proceeded to “accidentally” leave the cage open, professing ignorance when her mother finally noticed that Tuffy was missing. She had been so successful in feigning worry and concern for Tuffy’s mysterious failure to reappear in the house somewhere that Tanya Catlett had been moved to get her young daughter an orange tabby kitten to make up for the hamster’s absence. 

It wasn’t quite as easy to simply “disappear” the kitten after Tanya walked in on Verity holding its limp, sodden body in one hand in the bathroom, moments after Verity held it underwater in the bathtub long enough to drown it. But Verity had always been able to think quickly; even as a young child, she had known she was far smarter than any of the adults in her life. A quiver of her lower lip and a widening of her eyes, paired with tears, had been enough to convince her mother that she had been trying to bathe the creature, the death nothing more than an accident resulting from a little overzealous caretaking from an otherwise guileless child. 

There had been no pets since then in the Catlett house, but this was not due to any parental suspicions or rules, but rather because Verity had never bothered to ask for any. It seemed safer and simpler to stick with causing deaths when convenient, with subjects somewhat more removed from her personal association, even if it wasn’t quite as much of a rush to get away with it. 

The killing of animals was nothing new or even challenging for Verity, even in her preschool years. But human deaths- those were rare in opportunity, and the few occasions she had managed, she remembered very vividly and with great satisfaction. Even her first, nearly ten years ago. Especially her first. 

88

Four year old Verity lay very still in her bed, eyes open and alert in the darkness of her room. It was not fear or anxiety at the newness of her recent upgrade from a toddler bed to a “big girl” twin sized bed that kept her awake; Verity had yet to encounter anything that frightened her, in the way that she had observed others appear to feel frightened or ill at ease. No, it was the baby. That ugly, loud, stupid intruder of a baby.

She didn’t know why the grown ups seemed so excited about it. It had made her mother fat and tired for a long time before it came, too fat and tired to want to play with Verity as much as she used to. It made her mother take naps all the time instead of taking Verity places and it made both her parents go away for a whole day, so Verity had to stay at her grandmother’s house. Her grandmother was boring and smelled funny, and Verity didn’t like going there even for a little while. The stupid baby had made her have to stay there for a whole day and night.

And now that the baby was here, her mother was still tired and didn’t have time to listen to Verity or play with Verity, even though she wasn’t as fat. Instead she was always holding the baby and talking to the baby and feeding the baby, and her father wasn’t any better. Anyone who came over wanted to see the baby, not Verity, even though she could read already and do cartwheels. The baby couldn’t even sit up, and it was red and scrunchy-looking. What was so awesome about a baby that messed its diapers and screamed instead of talking? 

She had asked very politely, after the first two terrible days of the baby in her home, when it was going to go back to the hospital, where it came from. But Verity’s mother had just laughed. One thing Verity hated almost as much as that baby was being laughed at.

“Oh, sweetie, Mercy is staying here with us, forever!” Tanya Catlett had chuckled, patting the baby’s backside with affection that Verity found entirely incomprehensible. “Mercy is your sister, and our second little girl. She’s with us for good now, for always.”

Verity had felt like screaming. She had felt like snatching the baby out of her mother’s arms and throwing it against the wall until it never screamed or made gross noises or smells again. Forever? How could she put up with living with that intruder, that thief of her quiet home and her parents’ focus and attention- for forever?!

They called it her sister, and talked about it as though Verity would feel happy at the thought. But no one had ever asked Verity if she wanted a sister. Everything had been fine- everything had been just right- when she was the only child in the home. 

Lying awake in bed, Verity’s hands tightened around the top of her sheets, her back teeth grinding down with anger. The baby had stopped crying a few minutes ago, when she had heard her mother’s feet padding down the hallway past her bedroom door, the low murmur of her voice as she spoke to it. She had addressed it by name, singing and cooing, not sounding angry or annoyed at all that it was waking everyone up in the middle of the night.

She had asked her mother yesterday when the baby would stop that, and her mother’s answer had enraged her further. Tanya Catlett had told her that some babies cry in the night for months, maybe even for a year.

The baby might not be crying now, but it might in five more minutes, and it definitely would tomorrow. Verity would never sleep through the night again. She would never be sure that she could gain her parents’ attention immediately and fully, or that they would look at her without that glazed, absent look they showed lately, with the baby in their arms. Nothing was as it should be, and to Verity, there seemed to be only one answer to this problem.

If everything had been fine before the baby came, then the baby needed to go, and it needed to go now.

She counted to 100 three times in a row before slowly getting to her feet, careful to walk as quietly as possible and to open her bedroom door without letting it creak. Verity stood outside her parents’ bedroom, listening for the soft snuffles of their breathing that would let her know they were asleep, before continuing on to the baby’s room.

The baby’s room was open, and that posed a challenge. If either parent woke up and saw her, Verity would have to come up with an excuse and try again, another time. But she was ready. If the baby cried, and her parents came, she could tell them that she had been trying to help it. Verity could almost believe it for herself, because she was helping it, in a way. What kind of life could it be, to lay in your own poopy diapers crying all the time? Getting rid of it was doing them all a favor, even the baby.

The baby was lying on its back, eyes closed, as Verity approached its crib. It was covered only by a light blanket, which Verity eyed carefully, judging its thickness. It didn’t seem useful, so she instead took the decorative pillow, embroidered with the word “Mercy” across its front, from the rocking chair in the corner. She didn’t yet know the meaning of her sister’s name, so she could not consider and appreciate the irony of the choice of weapon. Years later, she would find it amusing and appropriate indeed, but at the time, the pillow merely seemed practical. She stepped cautiously to the crib, still eyeing the child inside, and then in one swift motion, brought the pillow down roughly over the baby’s face.

It took longer than she would have thought for the baby to die. Although it was less than two weeks old, it waved its small arms and jerked its legs feebly, fighting to push away the object blocking its nose and mouth from drawing breath. Verity pushed down harder, forcing the fabric of the pillow against the baby’s skin and airways, counting to 100 once, twice, three times, slowly as she could. Even as she counted she remained alert, listening for footsteps or a questioning voice, calling her name. Her heart boomed in her chest not from fear or strain, but from excitement and adrenalized pleasure. 

She waited until the baby had stopped moving, until she felt no resistance against the hand holding the pillow. Then she counted to 100 one more time before slowly removing the pillow, looking down at the results of her efforts.

The baby didn’t look dead to her, exactly. Her lips looked sort of bluish, and there was a little bit of blood at the corner of her mouth, but she didn’t look much different than she had before. Verity reached out, gingerly touching its chest and nose, and when it didn’t move or respond, she wiped the blood away. If she didn’t know better, she might not know it had died. 

Glancing down at the pillow in her hand, she wiped away the baby’s spit and smoothed its creases, fluffing it out before resting it back on the rocking chair. With concentration she returned to her bed, slipping under her blankets, and closed her eyes, a smile curving wide the corners of her mouth.

In the morning, she knew, she would wait for her parents to wake up and go to the baby’s room, to pick it up and notice that it stayed quiet. She wondered if they would scream or cry. She wondered if they, too, would be happy it was quiet forever now, even if they had acted happy to have it around before.

Verity thought they would be. After all, it was so much nicer when it was only the three of them.

88

Sudden infant death syndrome, they called it. That was the official medical diagnosis of Mercy Catlett, Verity’s little sister. Verity had never heard of the term at the time, nor did she ever read Mercy’s medical records or the death certificate she must have been issued. But she was cunning enough to hang around the whispering gossip of her parents’ friends and relatives, and her hearing and memory were sharp enough to file away the unfamiliar words until later, when she was old enough to remember, research, and understand. 

At the time, Verity had not fully thought through all the possible outcomes of murdering Mercy Catlett. She had only known that she wanted the intruder in her home gone, and she wanted to accomplish this with as little noise and mess as possible. As it turned out, her instincts in doing so had been absolutely perfect in simulating a nonviolent death. Even then, she had been quite the natural in murder. 

No one had ever seemed to consider that there could be even a remote possibility of little Verity connected to her baby sister’s death. But despite the intensity of grief Tanya and Nathan Catlett had shown in its aftermath, there was no subsequent pregnancy; Verity listened, but she heard not even one conversation about planning for a third child. Perhaps her parents were too scarred by Mercy’s death to even contemplate taking a chance on having another child; perhaps they had decided to be content with their surviving one. 

Or perhaps, deep down, on a level even they could not put to words or thought, they were scared not of the hypothetical child’s death itself, but of how it would happen to occur. 

Nine years later, she had not added many more human deaths to her list of misdeeds, but those she had were significant. She had set fire to a dilapidated shack at the age of nine, knowing as she did so that there were three sleeping homeless people inside. Verity had backed to a safe distance, hidden out of view, and watched with utter exhilaration as the flames grew in size, as the first screams rang out from inside. She had made certain to start the fire at the doorway and under each window, increasing the likelihood that those inside could not escape. She had limited herself to one more fire in the next year, the trailer home of a despised classmate. 

The death of her father’s lover had required a little more planning and a lot more left to luck. After Verity discovered her father’s affair, and the fact that his lover was deathly allergic to bees, she had been forced to wait until the perfect opportunity to be capable of catching a bee, keeping it alive, and then setting it loose in the woman’s car- all after making certain to first hide her epipen. It took weeks of planning, but eventually, it all carried out as perfectly as Verity had hoped.

She hadn’t killed the woman out of a sense of outrage or revenge, or even out of dislike for her. No, she did so because she wanted to see her father’s response. The best part of it all was watching her father for the months after, struggling to hide the grief he knew he could not openly show without his family becoming suspicious. After all, supposedly, Nathan Catlett didn’t even know the poor woman, dead of bee sting in her car. But he was no actor, and Verity secretly delighted in observing the clear anguish he experienced, even as he attempted to portray the role of dutiful, devoted family man. She savored the knowledge that she alone knew the full truth. 

But her crowning achievement had happened only last year, with the murder of her father. Verity had set her sights high on his particular death, not out of any elevated level of hatred or dislike for Nathan Catlett, as with his lover before him, but rather because of the particular difficulty that it endorsed. Not in the deed itself, but in getting away with pulling it off. It was always the family that they looked to first for suspects, or so they said on the movies. 

She had researched her possibilities even more carefully than usual before coming to her final decision. Verity had been curious about poison for some time, but it seemed obvious and too risky to actually choose poison when it came to murder. She couldn’t be sure that someone would actually drink it, for one thing, and if they did, they might taste it before it had been enough to take effect. Glasses and stomach contents could be tested afterward, and there would always be a risk that suspicious substances could be traced back to her. It seemed prudent if she were choosing poison as a cause of death to choose a substance that wasn’t actually poison, but would in some other way be equally deadly, while remaining plausibly innocent all the while.

She had settled finally on propranolol as her killing substance of choice. It was readily available, as her mother took the medication for her migraines, and what was more, it was a legal, prescribed medication that someone could take accidentally or ignorantly without it ringing too many alarms. Most people wouldn’t be affected by it at all, but Verity’s father, fortunately for Verity, was a diabetic. 

Verity had read that propranolol was tasteless and odorless, and it could mask signs of low blood sugar such as quickened heart rate, sweating, and shakiness, especially when combined with alcohol. It could be dangerous for someone with already low blood pressure or blood sugar to take, as the symptoms of danger might not be detected until the person had fallen into a seizure or even a coma. In large doses, propranolol could cause the death of certain individuals, and Nathan Catlett appeared to be one of those that would most likely be impacted at the maximum level of danger.

As a diabetic, Verity’s father was not supposed to drink often, but that didn’t stop him from having a nightcap most evenings after work. It was a simple matter for Verity to distract both him and her mother enough for her to be able to dissolve the medication into his glass, mix it enough that its traces were not visibly detectable, and then position herself where she could sit back and observe the effects. 

The results had been worth waiting for. Nearly a year later, Verity still had to fight back a grin when she remembered the suddenness with which her father had hit the floor, the violent jerking of his body as he lost all control of its functions. She still felt a rush of adrenaline through her veins as she replayed the shrillness of her mother’s screams, the incoherence of her father’s last grunting efforts at speech. His was only the second death she got to witness up close, and it had been exhilarating to be there, knowing it was happening because of her, without anyone else around her having any idea at all.

But all of this had been before, back in the time that Verity was still young and physically weak enough to actually require making elaborate plans. Now, she was thirteen, stronger and more powerful than even she had thought could happen. Now, the universe seemed to have realized that she deserved physical strength in direct proportion to her mental prowess, and now, Verity felt she could do anything she wanted, provided she take the effort to conceal it from those so much lesser than she. Now, Verity was truly capable of anything she desired to accomplish- and what she desired, of course, was the power she had already so suddenly received. 

A year ago, Verity had limited herself to one or two human deaths a year. Now, with her increased strength, speed, and endurance, there seemed absolutely no reason to hold herself back.


	2. Chapter 2

Sometimes, in the rare moment she had a moment to catch her breath and the mindset to reflect, Faith couldn’t quite believe that she was no longer ashamed of who she was. 

Once, she had been an angry, defiant mess of a girl, struggling hard to play the part of a competent and confident adult. Once she had felt desperately unwanted and undervalued, untrusting of the motives and emotions of any people she encountered. Once, she had hated everything about herself, even as she tried with all she had to earn if not respect or awe, at least some level of fear. Once, she rejected others before they could reject her, but more than any other, she rejected herself. 

Faith Lehane had spent most of her life feeling that she knew exactly who she was- a useless waste of space, mistakenly given power she could only use to cause chaos and destruction. She thought she was meant to barrel her way recklessly through life, living hard and dying young, and when her final day came, no one would feel anything but relief in her absence. 

Now, the girl who had been a homeless legal orphan, a suicidal murderer, and an ex-con, survivor of not one but three comas, was not only trusted but also expected to be a woman more than capable of serving as the leader of vulnerable, easily influenced young girls- dozens of them. Now, Faith was looked at as an equal and even deferred to as something of an authority, based on not only her Slayer status, but because of her experience, her ability to guide and teach others without her knowledge. 

She was respected now, in a way that Faith had never thought possible even a year or two back. Sometimes, she even thought that other people could possibly be looking at her with a level of affection that approached some sort of love. 

It didn’t suck. Actually, it was pretty fucking wicked, if something of a mind trip when she stopped to think about it. Sometimes the direction her life had taken- and the fact that it actually had a direction these days at all- seemed crazy to Faith, but mostly, it all felt pretty damn good. 

It had been about four months since Sunnydale’s literal implosion, and things had definitely charged ahead, change-wise, in Faith’s and the other Sunnydale alumni’s lives. The talk of forming another, better Watcher’s Council had launched into action the moment everyone had settled for temporary shelter in Angel’s hotel. Willow, Xander, and Giles in particular were the most involved and enthusiastic about the idea- Faith suspected because they had no other prospects in their lives. With Giles’s magic shop buried in the Sunnydale sinkhole, Willow’s student days far in the past, and Xander’s construction skills somewhat less precise with his missing eye, they had to have some sort of project to latch onto and build a future on, and slaying and Slayers was the obvious go to. 

Faith had sort of thought she’d go her own way, once everyone had settled somewhere with some kind of plan and there was no obvious way left for her to help. But to her substantial surprise, she had been asked, by Willow, of all people, to stay and be part of the team. Team- definitely not a word Faith had ever been attracted to, or planned to label herself with. But it was her reality now- that Faith Lehane had become part of a team. 

With Angel’s contacts and the help of his team, especially Fred and Wesley, they had been able to buy out a foreclosed former apartment and revamp it into an appropriate facility for training, recruiting, and housing new Slayers, staff, and the occasional person needing help. The Merrick and Dormer Academy- named after Buffy and Faith’s now first Watchers, both victims of violent deaths- had now been fully running for over a month, and it seemed to be hitting its stride in functioning. 

The only thing that Faith disliked about the process of its conception had been the substantial amount of money donated by Angel to sponsor its construction and initial needs. Two months back, Angel and his crew had made the decision to become the new heads of Wolfram and Hart, the very same law firm that they had been battling against for the past four years. The same law firm, in fact, that had hired Faith to kill Angel, back in her pre-prison days. Angel, as the new head of the place, had used some of their funds to provide for some of Merrick and Dormer’s most pressing needs as a starter company. 

Angel had explained his decision in his typical “the greater good will be served” kind of reasoning, something about using the place to take out the bad from the inside and redirecting its resources to help instead of hurt. Faith understood his wish, but not the naivety it took for him to believe his own words. The way she saw it, Wolfram and Hart were the ones using Angel’s need to be hero and flashing fancy offices and cash to sweeten up what was at bottom line his literal deal with the devil. To Faith, it was dirty money, and Angel and his friends were being drawn into something dangerous and deadly, something that would blow up more or less in the same way of Sunnydale.

But Angel was a big boy, and it wasn’t like he did much listening, once he’d made up his mind. So Wolfram and Hart had its changes, with new people at the head, and Merrick and Dormer Academy became a reality, with Giles, Willow, Xander, and Faith in its lead positions. Giles, of course, was obviously the head Watcher, responsible for directing and overseeing all other positions and especially in the supervision of the newest Slayers. Willow was head of the magical department, recruiting and educating young people with identified magical talent who needed direction or who were interested in helping with any threats. She also assisted with research and the occasional spell. Xander, to Faith’s amusement, was a Watcher in training, assisting with the assignment and training of Slayers and with finding and recruiting them into their care. Dawn was still finishing up her last year of high school, most of it online now, with a good bit of it apparently worth college credits. She was not yet a Watcher in training- that couldn’t be official until she turned 18- but Faith knew that was exactly where she was planning to end up, because she said it, a lot. Faith was also pretty sure she was dating Xander on the sly, and an announcement of their couple status would come about shortly after that magic birthday too. Not that she was judging- Dawn was pretty cool for a kid her age, and Xander, well, she had to admit she kinda liked him these days too. Andrew had gone off somewhere else- where and why, Faith didn’t know and didn’t much care. Kennedy, Vi, and Rona had stayed on, while the other Slayers had either returned to families, if they were able, or were making separate life plans in college, relationships, or the work force. 

And as for Faith…she was the head of the Slayers, responsible for training, directing, and giving out assignments to the younger Slayers and the new ones coming in. She was the head of the defense, delegated patrol schedules, and went out to retrieve and educate Slayers Xander had identified. 

It was all crazy new and different from what Faith was used to, but in a way, it was familiar, not much different from what she had done in her last days in Sunnydale. They were based in Cleveland now, new town, new Hellmouth, but evil, death, and apocalypses were pretty much all the same. 

Life for any Slayer wasn’t ever going to be easy, but for Faith, it was as close as it had ever been and would probably ever get. She knew each night that if she survived, she’d have somewhere to go, a base, a focus, a purpose, something to push her through to caring about the outcome of the fight. She had a home, with people who would actually give a damn if she lost the final battle. She finally had earned the acceptance and sense of being valued that she had longed for her entire life, and it felt right and good. 

Still, even with the good added into her life, there was something missing, something that Faith remained uncomfortably aware of, even as she and the others did not speak of it. 

Buffy. As busy as they kept themselves, and as much good and protection the put out into the world, it didn’t seem quite how it should be without Buffy by their sides. 

For most of Faith’s life, she had felt an emptiness inside her, so raw and deep and ragged at its edges that she had to throw herself into reckless activity to dull it into something she could push down enough to ignore. Support, distance, and the time in prison that had given her opportunity to practice reflection had given her enough perspective and dare she say, maturity to accept if not forget some of its cause. Beginning to replace some of the damage she had put out in the world with healing and help had eased the intensity of her restless inner nature a bit more. But although the void within her had begun to fill, it was not closed over, and Faith felt that much of it had nothing to do with the past or her own actions at all. Some of it was due to Buffy, and more definitively, Buffy’s abrupt departure and continued absence from her life. 

It wasn’t that she thought she and Buffy would be BFFs, at least not the kind that braid hair, giggle over boys, or engage in the kind of hugs that seemed to involve high pitched squeals and jumping up and down enough times that Faith always inwardly hoped the little jerks would trip. But hell, she had at least thought there was finally a chance they could be friends, even if only in the most vague and ill defined way. She had at least taken for granted that Buffy would stay with the others to be part of the new council, even if only for a few months. After all, what was a Slayer headquarters without the ultimate Slayer ancestor at the head of its quarters? 

But maybe that was the problem. Maybe everyone, including Buffy and even Faith herself, had expected so much from Buffy and what they thought of as the “right” things for her to do that they hadn’t bothered to think about what Buffy actually wanted. 

Faith had to give it to Buffy, it couldn’t have been easy for her to turn all those expectations on the head and tell everyone that not only was she not accepting lead Slayer position, she wasn’t even staying with them in Cleveland at all. Instead, she was spending time alone and traveling, without any actual plan or agenda before her other than taking the break she had voiced to Faith alone that she needed. 

Even Faith had been shocked. As much as Buffy had opened up to her in their shared motel room several months back, and as worried as she had been for Buffy’s mental state, she hadn’t truly expected Buffy to do something about her feelings or her voiced needs. This was Buffy Summers, after all- as much as she sometimes complained, when it came down to it, duty and expectations had pretty much always won out to influence her decisions more than any selfish desires she might have. At least, that seemed to me the case as far as Faith could see.

Still, screw the rest of them. If this traveling alone thing was really wanted Buffy wanted and what would help her figure out what she needed out of the rest of her life, then Faith was for it, all the way. Still, she wondered. Slayers were loners at heart, she knew; for Faith, that had always come naturally, what with how her life had been, and she was starting to suspect that it was one of the things all Slayers had in common. But unlike the Slayers before them, and many of those after, Buffy had never been alone in actuality. She had always had friends and family there to support and love her, no matter how deep the darkness of her calling drew her in. How would she manage now, with none of them there beside her? 

It was a crazy switch up to Faith, for Buffy to be the Slayer on her own, while she was the Slayer in charge of things, with people there to turn to on all sides, if she needed or asked. Once, she might have given everything she had and plenty she didn’t for this, but now, she knew that it was not enough to make her feel fully complete. She felt affection and respect for the others, even an all too cheesy sense of accomplishment and teamwork, but somehow, without Buffy there too, it still just wasn’t enough.

It had been different, for the brief periods of time that she and Buffy were physically and emotionally close, and especially after Sunnydale. Even when not engaged in an active battle towards a common enemy, Faith had felt a pull towards the other woman, an intense undercurrent of being drawn towards someone else, and having the same feeling returned equally towards herself. Whether that feeling was resentment and anger, anxiety and uncertainty, affection and respect, or an unspoken but definite sexual tension, it had always been experienced by Faith as vivid, encompassing, and alive. No one had ever made her feel so much as Buffy Summers, and she was certain by now that no one else ever would. No matter how many battles she fought with her current crew, or how many near death experiences they pulled through, it would still not make her feel as imminently awake and sparked with adrenaline as a simple brush of her shoulder against Buffy’s a brief touch of Buffy’s hand. 

But Buffy had made her choice to leave, and she had not specified when, if ever, she would return. 

And she had also made the choice not to contact Faith in her absence. True, she was barely contacting anyone else either. Dawn got the most from her, with occasional phone calls and the one or two Skypes Buffy had graced her with, and Xander, Willow, and Giles received texts, but from what Faith had learned, only sporadically, and only after they had first reached out to her. For Faith, there was nothing. Not so much as a single emoji. 

Faith wouldn’t say it, and no one asked, but the dearth of silence between them hurt in a way she had thought she had moved on from years ago. She hadn’t even fully realized she had expected differently, but after what had passed between them, immediately post Sunnydale, it had seemed to her as though something might have changed in their typical communication patterns. It had definitely felt like something had changed in their relationship. But maybe she had been wrong. Maybe she had read too much into things, or maybe Buffy had decided whatever shifting between them she had felt was not something she welcomed. The girl always did have weird issues with commitment, at least when it came to living, breathing human beings. And coming from Faith, that was saying something.

And why the hell was she thinking words like relationship and communication patterns anyway, especially in reference to Buffy? What the hell had Angel and prison time done to her, anyway?

Still. Faith was pretty sure Buffy had parted ways with everyone in a better mental space than she had been during their couple of nights sharing a motel room and uncharacteristically serious heart to hearts. If she had continued to have serious worry for her safety- and for a day or two there, she really had- she would have said something, to Buffy or to someone else, about her big plan to go off on some random road trip. Or plane trip, Buffy had never been all that specific. But Buffy had seemed better. She had seemed determined, if not exactly bubbling with excitement. Most importantly, she had seemed more at peace with her choice to literally move on than Faith could remember her being in all the time she had known her. She had truly seemed to want what she was saying she wanted, and when it came to Buffy, that was definitely a first. It seemed better for Buffy to nod , smile, and wish her luck, even if smiling was the last thing Faith felt like doing. 

The actual moment of Buffy’s goodbye had been both depressing and awkward, making it a pretty perfect mix of Faith’s personal idea of hell. There had been all the usual hugs and kisses and hand squeezes from everyone, and a few anxious admonitions from Willow and some teary-eyed sarcasms from Dawn. Faith had stood back with her arms crossed, a slight distance from the others, feeling out of place and unsure of what, if anything, she was supposed to say or do. They had never demonstrated any kind of public affectionate gestures around the others, at least nothing as overt as a hug. Hell, even a deliberate touch that wasn’t a fist bump to the shoulder or a punch in the face was rare. So Faith had stood, increasingly uncomfortable as the others parting gestures dwindled. She was supposed to say or do something, she knew, but each impulse she had was more ridiculous and embarrassing than the last, and all were inadequate to what she actually thought and felt.

Finally Buffy had come to stand a few feet in front of her, regarding her with a small, closed mouth smile that made Faith think she seemed to be feeling as awkward and uncertain as Faith. She rocked slightly on her heels for a moment, her smile becoming less forced just before she spoke.

“Well…bye, Faith,” she said finally. “See you later.”

Faith noticed the flicker of indecision in her hazel eyes before Buffy stepped forward, pulling her into a brief but firm hug. Faith had barely recovered from her surprise enough to start to return the gesture before Buffy pulled back, the distance between them less than it had been moments before.

“Uh…right, see you later, B,” Faith managed after swallowing, jerking her chin in acknowledgement of the woman’s words. “If monsters come knocking, tell them you’re out of business, they need to come up this way.”

Buffy chuckled lightly, her smile becoming full and genuine. “Not out of business, F. Just closed for the season.” She paused, her eyes staying on Faith’s for a few seconds more. “Take care of yourself, Faith, okay?”

People said that kind of thing all the time, lightly and without much thought, a way of closing a goodbye. But it wasn’t something Buffy said out of habit, least of all towards Faith, and there was a seriousness to her voice that Faith heard and took in. She knew that Buffy had not simply spoken words; she meant them. 

It had taken Faith all of her sometimes lacking self control to keep herself from blurting that she would go with Buffy, that they could travel and figure themselves out and be on a break from Slayerhood together. But Buffy hadn’t asked her. Buffy hadn’t even hinted at this being something she would want, and if she had even hesitated in response to her, Faith would have been unable to stand the shame and humiliation she would feel by what she feared would be Buffy’s pity or disgust. She would have had to laugh off her own words as a joke, even as she burned inside and scorned her own perceived desperation and need.

It was better to be silent, to stay where she had been asked to remain. It was better to let herself take up somewhere that she was wanted, for her help and skills, at least, if not the full package of who she was. It was start a way of life where others valued her, at last. 

So Faith watched Buffy leave, throwing herself after into her new life as head Slayer, starting up a brand new business from scratch. And her new life was good, if exhausting, better than she would have thought she could manage or deserve. Still, deep down within herself, a piece of her still wondered if going with Buffy, had she been asked or wanted, would have felt better. 

It was stupid to even think of. That ship had sailed long ago, of being Buffy’s best bud or even a one night stand, and obviously it was never going to return to harbor. God knows how many men or good looking vamps B had been distracted with by now, or how many more so-called normal friends she had made. 

So Faith moved on, like Buffy had. She had a few one night stands, nothing she’d call dates, and definitely nothing she’d call special or even all that satisfying. But none of it felt all that much fun, and nowhere was the feeling of vivid life that she experienced just being near Buffy, no matter how boring their actions. More nights than not Faith used a vibrator or her hand, because truthfully, it was less work and more payoff. She was no prude, for damn sure, but a lot of her bragging of sexual conquests as a teenager, especially the ones she had shared with Buffy, had been exaggerated or even completely made up in an attempt to disgust her, impress her, or even make her jealous. Truth was, she’d gotten used to a limited sex life back in prison, and now she looked at it as a nice release, but nothing totally necessary. 

So the nights where she went home alone, more often by far than those she didn’t, Faith often found herself restless and active, wandering the halls of the academy in futile effort to find rest. She worked out, listened to music, and even tried some of Giles’s foul-tasting tea, but sometimes nothing seemed to work to bring her sleep. In those times of endless, sleepless night, she wondered if Buffy too was awake, if that wordless, odd connection between them had reached out to her, responsible for her active state of being. 

In those nights more than any other time, Faith thought of texting or calling Buffy, just to know if her suspicion was correct. But she never followed through on the impulse. It was better with Buffy to let her decide the rules, and obviously, Buffy had decided there would be no contact. Sometimes it was hard to keep her hands still, though, because more than Faith felt hurt, she felt worry. Because Buffy had promised to Faith that she would stop pretending, at least with Faith, that she was okay….and if Buffy wasn’t talking to Faith, was that because it was her way of having to avoid a pretense?


	3. Chapter 3

“We’ve got a Slayer to hunt. Read.”

Faith’s still blurry eyes barely lifted as Kennedy plopped a heavy newspaper on the table in front of her face. She huffed her irritation, shifting their gaze to the far too energetic girl across from her as she pointedly curled a protective hand around her coffee mug. 

“All right, yeah, we’re gonna have to back up and redo that, Bitch-Brat,” she deadpanned, ignoring Willow’s disapproving look at her language. “First off, I do commands from very few people, and you are not one of them. And I definitely don’t do commands before I’ve had my coffee.”

“Fine, I’ll read,” Kennedy rolled her eyes, but she was smiling, at least as close to a smile as her usual smirking expression generally came. “Can you handle listening before you’ve had your coffee?”

“No,” both Xander and Giles answered simultaneously as they joined the women at the cafeteria table they had chosen to sit at. They looked at each other quickly, somewhat startled and somewhat horrified expressions exchanged at the prompt chorus of their answers, before Xander continued alone. 

“I think we all generally prefer to have some quiet and space before we face another day of blood, gore, and guaranteed apocalyptic threat, right, Faith?”

Faith lifted a finger off her coffee cup in wordless agreement, using the minimum amount of gesture and energy needed. Kennedy’s eyebrows rose, and she cast a pointed look around them for affect as she challenged this.

“Then why would you come to a cafeteria buzzing with teenagers, if you’re so in need of quiet and space?”

It was a decent point, one that none of the three could quickly come up with an answer for. Faith didn’t miss Willow’s effort to hide her smile, and she glowered towards her briefly before turning her attention back to Kennedy.

“Okay, I’m setting down my coffee cup, but my hand is on it. I’m prepared to throw it at you, which means wasting this very much needed coffee inside it, if whatever you’ve got isn’t worth my time.”

Kennedy ignored this, hardly intimidated, although she knew by now that this kind of threat from Faith had as much chance of being serious as it had of being just talk. Picking up the paper she had thrust at the older woman, she skimmed through it, calling out the highlights of the information.

“Fayetteville, it’s about 45 minutes from Cleveland. It says here there’s been a recent surge of deaths, mostly adults. Both males and females, mainly homeless and prostitutes. They’ve all been found outside in no obviously connected locations, no efforts to bury them or hide them.”

“Does it mention if the victims had neck wounds?” Giles inquired, sitting up and regarding Kennedy with considerable more interest than he had shown when she first appeared. “I suppose it’s possible that some of the vampire population is migrating outside of the Hellmouth area. It’s only natural they would branch out, as the knowledge spreads of the Slayer base here.”

“But she said we would be looking for a Slayer,” Willow pointed out, her forehead faintly creased as she turned towards her girlfriend. “What makes you think there is a Slayer nearby, Ken? Is there something else in the article?”

“Nope, no neck wounds,” Kennedy answered Giles, shaking her head. “Nothing says vamps to me. Actually, that’s the part I was getting at. It says here the victims died from their hearts stopping, but it wasn’t natural deaths. Not exposure, not heart attacks, not heat stroke, nothing like that at all.”

She jabbed at the article, and Faith’s grip on her mug loosened as she leaned towards her in spite of herself, drawn in. 

“It says the victims’ sternums were bruised and broken. You know how hard a sternum bone is? Damn hard, you’d about have to hit it with a truck to crack it. But get this, the skin wasn’t broken in that area. Bruised, yeah, but not bleeding or stabbed.”

Xander looked down at the breakfast he had barely touched with a faintly queasy expression. “I know dealing with guts and goo is all in a day’s work for us, but I usually prefer not picturing it or having it vividly described to me while I’m eating.”

“Is there pictures?” Faith asked, only to receive Kennedy’s look of incredulity.

“In the newspaper? Dead, naked people with broken bones? Sure, Faith, right between Dear Abby and the comics.”

“There might be in morgue or hospital databases,” Willow thought aloud. “Are there any names mentioned in the article, Kennedy?”

Kennedy handed over the paper for Willow to pour over. Looking back at Faith, she told her with barely concealed excitement, “It says the face bones were broken in some of the bodies too, and some of the teeth were missing, but not from tooth decay, more like they got recently punched out. So we’ve got someone strong enough to punch someone hard enough to break face bones and teeth and even sternum bones. Strong enough that a punch to the chest would probably stop their heart, without leaving much physical evidence behind. And no neck wounds. So what do you think, guys, am I right?”

“Right in what, exactly?” Giles queried, raising a hand of caution. “You have yet to share this theory of yours, Kennedy.”

But Faith had caught on- perhaps she was the most likely to do so, simply by measure of her past. She met Kennedy’s eyes, her face still in its expression as she clarified Kennedy’s thought.

“You think it’s a Slayer, killing these people. A slayer who hasn’t been identified. A Slayer gone rogue.”

Young, new Slayers getting themselves into trouble was not something any of them were unused to dealing with, even with their limited time as a business. It was only reasonable that girls who were already different, likely feeling alone or rejected or even bullied in some manner, would find a sudden surge of power, strength, and speed to be an exhilarating or even frightening experience. In only a few months they had gone to and deescalated situations in which girls had accidentally and occasionally purposefully hurt others, destroyed countless amounts of property, and even been judged by themselves or others to be going insane. So far even the most potentially dangerous Slayers had come to have a little more understanding of the source and degree of their abilities, even if they did not choose to use them or further develop them at Merrick and Dormer. 

But if what Kennedy and now Faith suspected was true, this particular Slayer had moved far beyond the level of risk and danger of the others. If it was true, this Slayer had killed, not just once and in error, but several times, deliberately and with purpose. 

This Slayer, if she existed, had plunged into the darkest depths of being that she could go. This Slayer may have even surpassed Faith herself in the extent of evil she had allowed to sway her. 

“So can I go?” Kennedy was asking, and Faith came back mentally into the present moment, shifting her eyes towards the younger woman’s and finding that they were already focused on her with intensity. Kennedy’s question sounded more like an assertion that she would be going rather than a request for permission, and Faith didn’t fail to notice. 

“To find a rogue Slayer?” Willow repeated, her light eyebrows knit with concern. “One whose killed? Ken, I know you’ve done really well with a lot of difficult jobs, and you’ve taken on a lot of responsibility here, but are you sure you’re ready for this?”

“I’m the second oldest Slayer in the building, and I’ve been in training longer than some of these girls have been wearing bras,” Kennedy argued, crossing her arms in a defensive gesture over her chest and sticking out her chin as though in defiance . “I’ve taken lead positions in a lot of missions here, and I know I can on one like this.”

“Something tells me you’re not exactly familiar with how nasty things with rogue Slayers can get,” Xander maintained, not quite under his breath. “If you had, maybe you wouldn’t be so eager to jump on that train of wackiness.”

“Well, she got off that train fine, without much visible damage in the end equation,” Kennedy gestured towards Faith. “How bad can it really be?”

“And that is exactly the sort of attitude that concerns us, Kennedy,” Giles said quietly, but there was a stiffness to the set of his shoulders that indicated the level of his irritation with the girl. “Someone with no experience, with something of this level of danger and needed delicacy, should in no way feel your degree of confidence. It isn’t confidence at all that you’re experiencing. Confidence is an understanding and knowledge of both your ability and your limitation, being self-aware. Lacking that, what you’re experiencing now is arrogance.”

“Excuse you, what?” Kennedy straightened in a hurry, her dark eyes first widening, then narrowing with barely contained fury. “Well, isn’t this the pot calling out a black kettle, if anyone’s arrogant, it’s the guy who thinks being old and reading books makes him know it all!”

“Kennedy!” Willow admonished as Giles stiffened, appearing on the verge of a retort. 

But Faith had had enough. Her temples beginning to throb, she held up a hand, almost growling over the others to make herself heard.

“Okay, I haven’t even finished my damn coffee yet. I am so fucking over this bickering, so we’re shutting it down, now.”

As the others quietened, with Willow wisely staying silent against her profanity, Faith took a deep breath, tapping her fingertips against her forehead. She took a long pull on her coffee before speaking again.

“Kennedy, you’re not going.”

“What?” Kennedy started to argue, but Faith shot her a look that temporarily silenced her, however irritably. 

“They’re all right. You have no idea what the hell you would be getting into, tracking down a rogue Slayer. Hell, I don’t know myself, and I was one, as you pointed out with super subtlety, once upon a time.”

When Kennedy opened her mouth, Faith waved her down impatiently from even starting to speak.

“Not finished, Slayer Junior. You don’t know what she’s done that the public doesn’t know about, who she might be associated with, and what plans they might have. You don’t know how dangerous and deadly she may be, other than the obvious answer of “a lot,” and you obviously don’t have an appreciation for even that much. You think since you’re a Slayer, you know what Slayers can do, what they’re capable of? You’re wrong. You have an inner compass spinning around in your gut, right now, and even if it points you the wrong way sometimes, 9 times out of 10, it’s going off you wanting to protect people, fight evil, serve the greater good, some do-good kind of thing. Rogue Slayers, that compass is broken and bent to the point it doesn’t spin, it dangles, and it’s pointing towards whatever is the greatest chaos and pain it can cause.”

She stood up abruptly, walking with a heavier stride than she normally would use to Kennedy and standing close enough that with only a slight lean in, she could have kissed her. Kennedy, clearly taken aback by Faith’s proximity, nevertheless stood her ground, even as confusion flickered over her features. Faith lifted her hands, showing them to her palm side up.

“These hands killed people, Kennedy. Not demons. People. Human beings with hearts and souls. These hands caused people’s life to bleed out from their bodies. And I meant to do far more damage than I actually carried out.”

She let her hands come to rest slowly on Kennedy’s shoulders, putting some pressure on them just enough that Kennedy flinched, perhaps from the realization of Faith’s words as from the contact.

“You think you know me, so you know rogue Slayers too? You think that because I’ve turned a new leaf, got my life on the right path, that a rogue Slayer on the loose would be no problem to bring back to the good side of things?”

She removed her hands, dimly aware of them clinching at her sides, nails digging into her palms.

“You don’t know or understand anything about who I was or what I did, and you can’t for this girl either. Not yet. You’ve not gone through enough darkness in life to even begin to comprehend. And if you’re lucky, maybe you never will.”

She took a step back, reaching past Willow for the coffee cup she had left behind.

“She isn’t going. None of the junior Slayers are. None of them are ready for this yet.” 

The coffee in her mug was now lukewarm, and Faith swallowed its remnants in one gulp, more like one would take a shot than how one would normally drink coffee. She squared her shoulders against the onslaught of arguing she had no doubt Kennedy would lay on her, but perhaps she had missed some signal between Willow and Kennedy that had made the girl keep her silence. There were certain looks the redhead could give these days that were more than capable of bringing about that sort of near miracle.

One thing Faith had come to realize about Willow was that whatever impression she had given in their teenaged years of being so meek and harmless, it was a lie. The woman had every bit as much power as Faith herself- Faith would bet considerably more. In the few years that Faith had been absent on the Sunnydale scene, Willow had managed to go from a jealous, insecure little girl, uncertain in her identity and unwilling to confront, into a woman of true strength and confidence, a woman who clearly respected herself and others, was comfortable in her sexuality, and had enough magical ability to literally destroy the world, if she wanted to. 

She was also a damn good leader, when she had to or chose to be. Hell, Faith didn’t just respect her, she was a little scared of her sometimes. And if Kennedy had an ounce of sense, she should be too. 

“I agree with you, Faith,” Giles said quietly, and Faith noticed that Willow was nodding as well, giving a meaningful look in Kennedy’s direction, much to her sullen, irritated reaction. “I respect your judgment on that. You would be responsible for whichever Slayer was sent out, and if you don’t think the risk to them is acceptable, then you do have the say to refuse the mission to any of them.”

“Except there’s only one problem,” Xander interjected, raising an eyebrow. “If none of the Slayers go with you, then who is?”

Faith sat back more fully in her chair, considering her choices. Clearly, they didn’t think that she should go alone on a mission to track a rogue Slayer. They were probably right on that. It was a hell of a job for two people, or even a team of people. If the girl was loony and deadly enough, and if Kennedy’s description of the bodies she’d left behind was accurate, she was completely, unpredictably dangerous. 

Yet none of the staff of Merrick and Dormer seemed right for the job. None of them seemed worth the risk to Faith. None, other than herself.

Giles was skilled, and he understood a Slayer and the way she would think and respond nearly as much as a Slayer herself could. But he was also getting older, and despite the skill of magic he possessed, he lacked the forceful strength and speed that would be needed for a young Slayer, raw and brutal in her skill. Xander had come exponentially further along in his skills of battle than Faith would have ever deemed possible, and he had proven himself much sharper in intellect than she might have guessed as well. But Xander had no supernatural powers at all, and even though he had managed to stop Willow at her worst, he had no emotional connection to this Slayer to appeal to with sentiments.

That left Willow. She was the most logical choice of those available; she had the strength in her magic ability, and she was both freakishly intelligent and quick at changing plans as needed. She could lead and follow equally, and she and Faith had built a rapport and trust that meant they could work together on a difficult assignment well. 

But still, Faith hesitated. It had only been months since the fall of Sunnydale, and Willow’s control of her magic was still sometimes uncertain. She was gaining mastery and confidence, but still, what if she failed at a critical moment? And her self defense skills, without magic, were not exactly deadly.

Had it been possible, Faith would have taken Angel with her to retrieve the mystery Slayer. It would have been the obvious choice, and some kind of poetic mirroring of fate in the mix as well. From him having to redeem his own soul, to his redeeming of Faith, to the two of them working to redeem another girl together, it would have just felt right, and Faith could have been secure in her trust that the two of them would get the job done. 

But Angel was in charge of Wolfram and Hart now, and no matter how good his intentions were, that spelled nothing but trouble. For all Faith knew, the place had already sent people out behind Angel’s back or before he took over to groom the girl into their kind of deeds. They could have ordered her killing spree months back, and there was no telling what might happen if Angel, the new head, became overly involved. If he wasn’t already a target, he would quickly become one, and Faith didn’t want to live with if it went wrong. 

“Faith?” Willow prompted gently, interrupting her thoughts, and Faith blinked, looking across the table at the inquisitive, somewhat concerned faces staring back at her. 

Giving them a brief smile and shrug, she got to her feet, leaving the coffee mug behind her as she called out over her shoulder. “Give me time to think, I’ll get back to you.”

She had a new idea slowly twisting itself through her mind, one that she was pretty sure the others would not accept without some persuasion. It was probably a stupid idea, and more than a few of the others would probably tell her it was useless or even crazy to bother with. But then again, no one had ever called Faith Lehane totally sane- not even Faith herself.


	4. Chapter 4

Faith found Dawn Summers in one of the rooms of the academy that had been left deliberately spare, nearly empty. They were private rooms that could be used or reserved for any number of purposes such as study, meditation, confrontation, or even to have some peace and quiet in a place that could be anything but at times. At nearly 18, Dawn seemed to be disappearing to herself pretty often these days, and Faith couldn’t blame her. She had an idea that like Faith herself, Dawn experienced a feeling of unsettled hollowness in Buffy’s absence. After all, Dawn’s connection to Buffy was every bit as strong as Faith’s, if not more; she had been formed from Buffy’s being and blood rather than the lineage of Slayers. 

It was kind of a trip to realize that the tall, awkward kid who had never seemed to quite fit in anywhere, including her own body, was actually older and more powerful in some ways than Faith could even understand, even if that power was sort of dormant now, far as she knew. Only in Buffy’s world, or ex-world, would plain, simple human being like Xander stand out as the oddity.

Faith’s knocks remained unanswered until she reached the fourth spare room. She had been starting to wonder if she was being ignored, or if search for Dawn was going to have to involve actually asking someone questions, a much-avoided task when she could help it, when she heard Dawn’s voice respond calmly.

“It’s occupied.”

“Well, can we make it occupied by two for a second?” Faith asked, smirking at the formal way that Dawn had phrased her words. “It’s Faith.”

The door opened moments later, and Dawn smiled from the entranceway, taking a step back just enough to let Faith by. “Sure, my head is starting to mix up words and give them accents and personalities at this point anyway.”

Faith glanced down at the pile of books, pillows, and papers Dawn had spread out on the floor and cocked an eyebrow in their direction. “You and your voluntary learning, without weapons or punches being involved. Tell me you at least have a flask or joint hidden somewhere?”

“Nah, but I used to steal, and my first kiss was with a vampire. Does that get me some rebel points?” Dawn asked, wiggling her eyebrows playfully back at her.

“Get it, you bad girl you. I knew that weird Summers bang-the-undead fetish had to kick in sometime,” Faith chuckled. “Did he get the V card too? Or was it a she?”

“Hey, even rebels have to keep some information classified,” Dawn deflected, pushing a long lock of hair behind her back. “I’m a badass, not a secret-slut.” She paused, seeming to rethink her word choice. “A secret-slut, by the way, that means someone who just spreads secrets left and right with whoever has ears…not like, someone who is secretly promiscuous. Just so you know.”

“Sure, sure,” Faith grinned, both eyebrows lifted high. “Of course that’s what you meant.”

She looked over the younger girl with something close to appraisal. It was still somewhat difficult to reconcile the preteen cling-on clad in cartoon t-shirts and Limited Too jeans with the attractive, stylishly clothed and confidently speaking woman whose makeup was understated and applied with an experienced hand. The woman who was now several inches taller than Faith herself was, and not above wearing heels to further accent her height. Faith wondered, looking at Dawn, if she herself knew when it was that she had officially grown up, but it was a definite glow-up in every way. 

“So, what’s up, Faith?” Dawn asked, giving her arm a playful bump. “Were you looking for me, or just an empty room?”

“Looking for you, sort of.” Faith leaned against the closest wall, crossing her arms as she put some effort into maintaining a casual tone. “Nothing important, I was just wondering something.”

“Wondering….?” Dawn prodded, eyebrow lifting again as she waited.

“Well…uh, have you heard from Buffy lately?” Faith asked quickly, the words coming out in a near rush. It felt to her, somehow, that the faster she said them, the easier it would feel to have this conversation. “Has she called, or texted, or anything?”

Dawn’s amused expression softened, her eyebrows smoothing out, and the way that she regarded Faith did not help with her level of comfort. It looked to her like Dawn was feeling sorry for her, or something close enough to make Faith’s teeth grit with irritable anxiety. 

“No,” she said simply, shaking her head. “We talk once in a while, but we haven’t recently. Why, Faith, have you talked with her?”

Faith’s jaw tensed, and she swallowed, taking a moment to put the harshness that was so ready to come into her voice into her control when she answered. 

“Not so much. “

“Well, why don’t you text her first?” Dawn suggested. “I think she’d answer, Faith.”

It was the gentleness of the other woman’s tone that bothered Faith, more than the actual suggestion. It was the way she seemed to know, despite Faith’s efforts, that this was a topic of strain for her, and she was trying to help, unsolicited. This was not at all the way Faith had envisioned this conversation going, and she tried abruptly to swerve it back on the track she had wanted.

“It’s like this, all right? I need a favor. I’d go to Willow or one of the baby Slayers, but this is kind of one of those things where magic might not be the best, and brute force would probably fail. You don’t have either of those things anyway, and your judgement game is less, so. I’m asking you.”

Dawn blinked, appearing uncertain in how to take Faith’s words, before breaking out into a smile.

“Okay, I’ll take that as a compliment. Sort of. Not to sound all pity princess, but compliments my way are just unexpected enough to help with basically any cause. What do you need, Faith?”

Faith took in a breath slowly, tossing around the possible words in her mind. Eventually she went for her usual method of speech- brief and direct.

“I want your sister’s help on a case, tracking down a killer that’s probably a Slayer too. I want that, but I also want your help, in bringing her back here with the rest of us.”

Dawn did not react with the surprise or drama in expression or gestures that Faith had braced herself for. She allowed herself to relax just enough for the most tense muscles of her neck and shoulders to uncoil. She had made the right choice, coming to Dawn over any of the others. She had suspected that Dawn, an outsider in her own way historically, would understand Faith’s request without feeling the need to argue or hem and haw over any other semantics in connection to it.

“And you think I’m the one she’d come back for?” Dawn asked. The words were calm, a genuine rather than sarcastic or rhetorical question. “You’re hoping that if I tell her the situation, and ask her to come, she’d say yes to her sister, even if she wouldn’t to anyone else?”

“Well….yeah,” Faith admitted, letting her shoulders rise and fall in a heavy shrug. “Don’t have any sibs myself, and neither does anyone else around here, weirdly enough.” She paused, considering this. “Isn’t that kind of….not normal? You think Sunnydale killed men’s sperm count along with half the population?”

Seeing Dawn’s eyebrows start to raise again, she got herself back on track. “Anyway, it’s not like I’d know it for myself, but it seems like you two always made a big thing of family and being sisters and all that Hallmark crap. So I’m hoping if you’re the one who asks…”

“That she’d feel obligated,” Dawn finished.

Faith nodded, shifting her weight with some discomfort. Months later into working as part of a team, and it still felt damn awkward to ask anyone to do anything other than set up modes to kill. This conversation was definitely no exception.

“Not that I wouldn’t love to have Buffy back with us, because I would,” Dawn said, her words slow, considering. “But Faith…I get the impression that coming back here, helping us out with whatever we have going on here…that isn’t what Buffy wants anymore. At least, I don’t think that’s what she wants now.”

Faith rubbed a hand absently down the side of her worn jeans, pulling at a loose seam at the side as she shifted her standing to the opposite leg.

“I know,” she said, her words awkward and somewhat abrupt. “I get that, she’s made that pretty clear with the absence and the silence thing she’s got going. But I need the question to be asked, at least. And sometimes…you know, even if people want to come back from something, or be part of something…they feel like they can’t, you know?”

She flashed back briefly in her thoughts as she spoke, to a time years back, the shoe on the other foot. A time when her teenaged self had holed herself away inside a rundown motel room, claiming no interest or desire to join in with Buffy and her friends, even as she ached inside with the need for them to ask, with the knowledge that if she knew she was wanted, she would gladly join in. Her chest grew tight, her throat jagged with the memory as she continued to speak to Dawn.

“Sometimes, people have to be asked again, even if they said no once.”

She startled slightly when she felt Dawn’s hand touch her arm, remaining with light but firm pressure as the other young woman met her gaze.

“You’re right,” Dawn said with some meaning to her tone. “And sometimes, the person doing the asking matters too.”

“Right,” Faith nodded, not understanding the girl’s look. “So will you ask her then?” When Dawn just kept staring at her, she narrowed her eyes at her, confused. “What?”

Dawn rolled her eyes, dropping her hand from Faith’s arm as she shook her head. 

“You Slayers, you’re all the same. You can deal with any monster or demon, but put an actual human being in front of you, and you’re lost.” 

Faith smirked in spite of herself. The kid wasn’t exactly wrong. 

“Faith, all of us have already asked Buffy when she’s coming back,” Dawn clarified. “We don’t get answers, not real ones. The only person who hasn’t asked is you. So…maybe you’re the one who’d get a different answer. Maybe you’re the person she’s waiting to hear from.”

That was not something Faith had considered. Mostly because it sounded more unlikely than Giles taking up hula dancing as his newest hobby or Faith herself being elected as the country’s next president.

“Buffy doesn’t want to hear from me,” asserted, her words more sure in this statement than they had been throughout the rest of the conversation. “If she wanted to talk to me, she would have talked to me.”

“Like…if you wanted to talk to her, then you would have talked to her?” Dawn countered. “Because I’m betting if she hasn’t spoken to you, then you haven’t spoken to her either.”

The irritated silence she got in response was enough of an answer for the other girl. “Yeah, thought so.”

“Yeah, well, Slayers and talk, we don’t have that great of a history, especially with me and Buffy,” Faith muttered. 

But even as she said this, her mind traveled back again, to the last few memories she had with Buffy, in the nights just after Sunnydale, during their brief period of being roommates in the roadside motel. She and Buffy had talked then, without it seeming overly difficult or provoking any physical blows. It had happened more than once, for growing lengths of time, and for the first time, Faith had started to feel that she was beginning to know Buffy. Not the Buffy she had viewed her to be, or the Buffy that the woman presented to the world, but the Buffy that truly was, the Buffy known only to the woman herself. She had started to feel faint sparks of hope in a greater connection between them, lying dormant since her teenage years, beginning to flicker and burn once more. They had talked, those couple of nights, and it had seemed possible that they might continue, for nights to come. 

But then Buffy had left. She left, those few sparks of hope had died down in Faith once more.

“Look, it would be different if she was actually here in person, then maybe I’d give it a try,” Faith reasoned, as much to herself as to Dawn. “But I don’t do phone calls or texts, it’s too many words and no one even gets half of what you’re trying to say, or takes it right, so there’s no point with that.”

“So what’s stopping you from going to her, talking to her in person?” was Dawn’s next question. 

“Well, not actually knowing where she is would be one obstacle-“

“No problem,” Dawn interrupted, self-satisfaction coating her voice. 

She squatted, picking up her laptop from the floor near the other scattered objects she had left, and opened it with some triumph, holding it up to Faith. “I already know where she’s staying. You can figure out anything these days, if you know how to look. I tracked the IP address of the email she sent me, and it traced back to a library computer. So then I hacked the system, since you have to use a library card to be able to use a public computer, and they had Buffy’s info in their system, no problem. Name, phone number, anddddd address. So…if you want to talk to my sister, there’s nothing stopping you from knocking on the door.”

Faith stared, a slow, incredulous smile curling her lips. “You really did become a total badass.”

“Thanks, feel free to spread the word,” Dawn grinned back. “So…are you going, or am I going to stay the undisputed badass of this residence?”


	5. Chapter 5

Faith had almost laughed when Dawn gave her Buffy’s new address. She had expected Buffy to go somewhere like New York, what with the shopping and culture, or Paris, for the classy tourist experience. Hell, even Las Vegas would be something not totally out of her expectations. But although Buffy had flown across the states and was definitely in a new location, her choice of settlement at Miami Beach, Florida, was a little more anticlimactic than she might have guessed. For a girl who had announced to everyone she knew that she needed to get away and live in an all new town with an all new environment, she was remaining nothing if not consistent in her desire to have sunny skies, warm weather, and a readily available beach. Buffy Summers was clearly still a California girl at heart.

Granted, even during the brief period of time in their teen years that Faith herself had had full access to California beaches, she hadn’t exactly taken advantage of it. Surviving apocalypses, fighting monsters, and battling her own inner demons had tended to sweep thoughts of surfing waves and soaking rays out of her mind. Maybe it had been the same way for Buffy, and she was making an attempt to finally get some of the beachy downtime she had missed out on in her own hometown.

One flight and an Uber later had lead Faith to Buffy’s current address at an apartment complex that looked surprisingly simplistic, possibly even closer to sketchy than nice, from outside appearances. She based this judgment on the fact that it had no gated arena, no communal swimming pool, playground, or even elevators; fuck wheelchair access, Buffy’s apartment could only be accessed by people who could navigate outside staircases. It reminded Faith more of a hotel chain than homes, although at the very least it did look several steps up from the nameless motels she had been accustomed to in her Sunnydale days. 

She wasn’t sure why she had thought that Buffy would be living somewhere classier. She had gathered rather than been informed that Buffy’s finances had taken a steep decline after her mother’s illness and death. Things couldn’t have gotten any better money-wise from trying to feed, house, and clothe a swarm of teenaged Potentials when only she, Xander, Wood, and Anya were actually making some kind of paycheck at the time. Which, when Faith thought about it, didn’t seem exactly fair. Dawn had been old enough to at least work fast food alongside her sister, and why exactly hadn’t Willow been working somewhere while living rent-free in Buffy’s home? 

Dawn hadn’t traced much more about Buffy’s current circumstances beyond her address, and she had told Faith that Buffy had said little to give her much more knowledge in her brief conversations with her. Faith was assuming, though, that Buffy had some kind of job, somewhere. Even cheap rent had to be paid, and even with Buffy’s former Prude Pole now removed from her ass, Faith was pretty sure Buffy wasn’t the type to pay her way with anything but actual money of some kind. According to Dawn, Buffy had had some kind of under the table waitress job for a summer, back when she was a teenager, but the thought of Buffy as a waitress, casually overlooked and looked down on by dozens of people every day, was almost as incredulous a thought to Faith as Buffy working a fast food counter. And she had seen the picture evidence of that fucking ridiculous chicken/cow hat. 

She hadn’t actually given anyone other than Dawn any sort of fully truthful details about where, exactly, she was going, or why money for a flight was necessary to get there. It that had seemed smarter, not to mention easier, to give a vague explanation of tracking the suspected serial killer Slayer and needing to follow a lead pointed towards Florida. Questions had been pretty minimal, as most of those that she actually tolerated asking them had learned that Faith really did better with trust than interrogations. Her instincts generally were good, if not always their outcomes, and so she was given the means she needed to pursue the direction she felt best. There had been some pushback from Willow, Xander, and even Giles about her setting off without some sort of back up, but in the end, she had been allowed to use her own judgment, as long as assurances had been given that she would check in regularly with status updates and that she would put not put her life at unnecessarily high risk. 

This, too, was new for her- not just being asked to weigh risks to her safety, but having people who actually expressed concern that she might not be safe. For Faith, this was uncomfortable and sometimes annoying, but weirdly, secretly welcome whenever it was expressed, no matter how much she brushed it off as unwarranted. Because people nagging her about watching out for her safety equaled people that gave a damn, people who on some level cared.

As she texted the others a brief affirmation of her continued status as alive, Faith scanned the outside of the apartments, searching for the number array that would correspond with Buffy’s. As she ascended the building’s staircase and finally came to stand in front of apartment D3, she took a quick breath in and squared her shoulders in effort to ready herself for whatever response she would be greeted with on the other side of the door. 

It was just Buffy, after all. But that, historically, was plenty to have some apprehension about.

With a quick jab of her index finger, Faith reached out to ring the doorbell of Buffy’s apartment. The gesture was fast and decisive, but as soon as she heard the tinny jangle announcing her presence, self-doubt overtook her thoughts. What was she really doing here, tracking Buffy across the country like some kind of psycho stalker, without Buffy having given her even the slightest hint that she was open for conversation, let alone an impromptu visit and request for a rather large favor? She had encouraged Buffy to seek out her own happiness, to make her own future for herself, and here she was, sliding into the hypocrite’s role, demanding from Buffy her services just as everyone else always had. She more than anyone should understand why Buffy had left and what she was looking for, and Faith nevertheless had staked her out, no pun intended, to drag her right back to the same situation she had tried to get away from, the same constant death, stress, and need that Buffy had lived with for more than a third of her lifetime. This was the first time since Faith had met Buffy that Buffy had actually pulled herself away from the responsibilities she had both chosen and been forced to take on, and she damn well deserved to do it. Who was Faith to ask her to get back to it? 

Faith should never have even considered the possibility of Buffy helping her. Danger be damned, it was fucking selfish of her to pull Buffy into a lifestyle and a job that Buffy had clearly wanted out of. Faith had been trying to put out good into the world, and lately she thought she’d done okay with it, more often than not. How had she let herself slide into caring more about what she wanted and what would be good for her than what mattered for other people- especially for Buffy Summers of all people? How had she let herself be selfish when it came to Buffy, the one person that Faith still felt she owed something to?

If she was honest with herself, more honest even than she had been with Dawn, Faith knew she hadn’t come to Buffy purely because she thought she was best able out of everyone to help her, or because she might agree to. Truthfully, it hadn’t been so much about the help Buffy could give, as because Faith wanted it to be her, Buffy, who gave it.

She wanted Buffy back. She wanted to have the sense of being partners with Buffy, of working together towards a purpose, of having each other’s backs as no one else quite could. She wanted to have the long nights of patrol, the early mornings on research and the afternoons in training. She wanted to be able to look past the new Slayers to roll her eyes at their more irritating mannerisms, to feel the adrenaline of battle with the latest big bad as they took it down, together. She wanted her there, period, for herself as much or more than the others or the academy. She wanted Buffy there not for what she could do, but for who she was. 

In the few moments that all of these sudden realizations flickered through her brain, Faith considered abandoning her quest, however much time that would mean she had wasted. Maybe it was still possible for her to back away, to go back to Ohio and indicate that her so-called lead had filtered out into nothing. She could find the serial slaying Slayer on her own, or with Willow, if she had to. She could let Buffy live out her new life as she saw fit and never let on that she had even considered disrupting her.

But Faith had only taken one step backward, without even having the time to turn her back, before the apartment door opened, and Buffy Summers’s startled eyes met hers.

“Faith? What’s wrong, what happened?” 

Faith would have been far less surprised if Buffy had asked her what the hell she was doing on her doorstep; that was what Faith herself would have asked, in Buffy’s position. 

Direct answers, especially to questions she didn’t really want to reply to, had never been Faith’s strong suit, so she replied with a smirk, shrugging one shoulder. 

“Hey to you, too, B. Figured I’d give you a surprise birthday party way in advance, that way it’s a guaranteed surprise.”

“Okay….” Buffy said slowly, her sandy eyebrows furrowed as she looked Faith up and down. Faith wondered if she was expecting to see weapons in her hands, and the woman did in fact nod down towards them. “You don’t have anything with you.”

“Well, you don’t need much to retire,” Faith shrugged again. “I figured we’re basically geriatric in Slayer years, so I’ve probably earned the right to relocate to the state of the elderly, aka Florida. I thought to myself, where is the best retirement community for Slayers, past tense, and then I realized there’s only one other Slayer old enough to burn her stakes and head for the sunniest of skies. So, I followed you out. The elderly have to live in groups or they adopt forty cats and start knitting nose scarfs or something, is what I’ve heard.”

When Buffy’s eyebrows rose to her hairline, her lips quirking as though in an effort to suppress a smile, Faith exhaled, spreading out her hands slightly in front of herself.

“Okay, fine, none of the above. Do I have to give you the full rundown before you decide if you’re cool with me coming in?”

Buffy looked down at herself, seeming to realize with some surprise that she was still standing in the open doorway, blocking Faith from entering or even seeing much past her to the interior of the apartment. With a wry but unforced smile, she shook her head, giving a faint laugh as she took a step backward. 

“No, come in.” She stopped, looking Faith up and down, and added as a condition, “Unless you’re a vampire now, then no, don’t come in, and you’re now uninvited.”

Faith’s laugh then was deep, full, and eased most of her remaining tension from her body. She flapped a hand behind herself, indicating their surroundings with a flourish.

“Uh, B, I’m the one with jet lag, but apparently it’s contagious. It’s Florida, midday, and the sun is blazing enough that I’m seconds from stripping to my bra and calling it a crop top. Pretty sure that under those circumstances, you can be certain I’m not one of the fang-fiends.”

“Oh…right.” Buffy laughed with her, shorter and with a degree of what Faith thought sounded like nervousness. 

She moved her hand forward in a gesture that looked to Faith as though she meant to take hold of her arm or hand, maybe to pull Faith into the apartment or to guide her the rest of the way inside. Whatever she had intended, she stopped partway, her hand extended out awkwardly, then dropped it down to her side. When Faith blinked at her, still waiting for her to let her through the doorway, Buffy exhaled, eyes down, and backed up enough for her to come inside. 

The apartment wasn’t terrible from the inside. It was small, clean, and spare, with minimal furniture and no decoration beyond a couple of pillows on Buffy’s tiny couch. Faith noticed that she had no TV, no visible computer or other electronic mode of entertainment, and she wondered not for the first time just what it was that Buffy had been doing with herself in her recent life as a non-slaying Slayer. Didn’t she get bored, or lonely? Didn’t she feel the same irritating itch within her that Faith felt on nights with no action or suitable distraction to calm her? How was it possible that Buffy could deliberately ignore the restless inner restless drive that Faith felt to go and do something, to put herself out in the world as something more than just an average, ordinary young woman?

“It’s nothing fancy, but it works,” Buffy said, her voice neutral enough that Faith could not guess if there was any emotion hidden beneath its tone. “It has a bedroom, bathroom, kitchen, couch. The couch is more like a third of a couch, but it’s just me here, and the price was right. And the kitchen is pretty much just extra space to store clothes and shoes, because me and cooking really aren’t words that belong together, ever.”

Although her face showed nothing, she lifted her chin just slightly after speaking, her jaw tensing in what looked to Faith like a degree of defensiveness. Was she embarrassed about her apartment’s plainness, or maybe expecting Faith to pass some kind of judgment or crack jokes? Like Faith would have had the room…had Buffy already forgotten her Sunnydale motel days? 

Probably. Repeated death, both of herself and others, tended to be traumatic like that, and memories along with feelings tended to get pretty screwed up in the process, from what Faith had experienced for herself. She wouldn’t be surprised if it wasn’t any different for Buffy. 

“Hey, this place is the Taj Mahal compared to some,” Faith assured her. “No comments over here. I come in peace, you know?” She stopped, wrinkling her brow as she considered her own words. “What movie is that from, anyway?”

“I don’t know, but isn’t it usually associated with aliens?” Buffy said with some uncertainty. 

“Right…well, this is Florida, close enough to being another planet,” Faith shrugged. “You see any alligators mauling tourists or meth-heads eating people’s faces yet?”

“No, but I did see someone jumping parked cars naked,” Buffy informed her, shuddering at the memory. “And believe me, if I had to pick a naked stranger to stand on my car, that person definitely wouldn’t have been the one I’d choose.”

Faith laughed, wondering but not asking if the person had been male or female, or why that detail seemed to matter in her mind. When an awkward silence broke between them once more, Buffy cleared her throat, attempting to steer them back onto a more comfortable direction.

“Uh, do you want something to drink, Faith?” 

“Sure,” Faith nodded, letting her lips quirk into a teasing, nearly flirty smile. “Got tequila?”

She had expected Buffy to give her a judgmental comment about the time of the day, or at least to roll her eyes, but Buffy just shook her head, answering without missing a beat as she continued to move towards the kitchen area of the apartment. 

“No, but I have vodka, and wine that doesn’t come out of a box.”

Faith’s eyebrows rose, and she let out a startled laugh, giving Buffy a quick assessing glance. “Damn, Buffy, I was kidding.”

“Hey, I wasn’t judging,” Buffy commented, shrugging her shoulders and giving her a small returning smile as she came to stand behind the kitchen area’s island. “I would have joined you. Who says it has to be a certain time of day?”

“Well, plenty of people, apparently, but not the kind of people I want to hang with,” Faith answered with another brief laugh. “No, I’m good, Buffy, I don’t need anything.” 

Buffy pressed her hands lightly against the kitchen island’s surface, her expression smooth enough that Faith could not read any emotion it might have been concealing. The only sign that gave off any tension from the other woman was the way her hands slowly exerted force down onto the counter, until her fingertips turned white. 

“So…how did you get here?” 

“Flew,” Faith answered simply. 

She could tell Buffy was irritated by the shortness of her response by the way the girl’s lips thinned, and she tried to hide her smirk. Now that she was here, she wasn’t in any hurry to ask a favor of Buffy, not when she dreaded her most likely response. It was instinctive to drag out this encounter, to give herself time to figure out this latest version of Buffy Summers as much as Buffy would allow. And the most comfortable and easiest defense for Faith in any uncomfortable or uncertain situation was to retreat into her default attitude of snark or seduction. 

“I figured as much.” Buffy’s voice held almost as much sarcasm as Cordelia Chase at her height. “But with you, can’t be too certain of the conventional methods.”

“I’ve upgraded from my hitch hike days,” Faith replied. 

She was all too aware of the awkwardness of their physical positioning. Without Buffy’s invitation, it felt somehow like an intrusion to sit on her tiny couch, and it was the only seat available to her. Buffy, standing behind the kitchen island, was maintaining a literal barrier between them, which seemed pretty indicative of her mood. Faith shifted her weight to one hip uneasily, finally saying out loud what Buffy had clearly been wondering from the start.

“So, you’re probably wondering how I even knew to find you here, since you never exactly said to anyone where you were.”

“The question crossed my mind,” Buffy acknowledged with a nod. “I wasn’t sure it was something I actually wanted to know.” She paused, frowning. “Was there someone stalking me, like a bodyguard, or a secret agent reporting back on my whereabouts? Because I did think that one guy who’s always at the gas station looks at me in a really shady way, but I just figured it’s Florida.”

“Nah, nothing like that, you did pretty good going off grid,” Faith told her, shifting again in an effort to settle the restlessness she could feel threatening to peak inside her. “I asked Dawn. She’s upgraded too, went from stealing trinkets to full on hacking and learning how to counteract spells and curses in like five ancient languages. Kinda makes a reformed delinquent proud.”

“Dawn,” Buffy exhaled, her eyes rolling up, but Faith saw her lips twitch and heard the hint of a smile in her voice. “Why did I even ask. You know, my sister tried to make a literal patent for different inventions she came up with, to be able to listen through walls and doors. She was pretty devastated when Mom told her some kid in Korea had already had a similar idea and they were thinking of using it in the CIA.”

She cleared her throat, then slowly stepped out and around from the kitchen island, coming to a stop beside her living room loveseat and making an awkward gesture. 

“Sit.”

When Faith gave her a look- she didn’t really like being addressed in the exact same manner of a dog- Buffy flushed slightly, backpedaling.

“If you want, I mean. It’s not a command. Okay, scratch all that…have a seat, Faith. You know, in the only seat I actually own.”

It was true. The apartment kitchen area wasn’t large enough for a table or chairs; Faith assumed that any eating she did in the apartment was probably on the couch, with the badly nicked coffee table as her makeshift dining table. 

Faith came forward with nearly as little grace as Buffy’s request, at first attempting to pass her awkwardly to sit, then walking around the coffee table instead to avoid having to brush past her or force her to step back. When she finally sat, Buffy hovered awkwardly, still standing, then sat beside her, turning her body slightly. The couch was small enough that it was unavoidable for even the two rather slight women not to touch in some manner, and in the way that Buffy arranged herself, her knees rather than her hips and thighs brushed Faith’s body, and she was facing towards her rather than facing forward in the same direction as Faith. At even this slight physical contact, Faith’s body jolted with adrenaline, and she had to restrain herself from either jerking away or pressing in closer on instinct.

With Buffy this close to her, the faint pressure of her bony knees against her leg, Faith had almost forgotten why she was here in the first place. She was only distantly aware of Buffy’s long, assessing look at her from close up.


	6. Chapter 6

“You look…different,” Buffy said after a few moments, her words soft, but not hesitant. “It’s…nice.”

Faith blinked, attempting to decipher this somewhat ambiguous comment. She didn’t think she looked dramatically changed from the last time Buffy had seen her, at least not enough to expect any kind of comment from the blonde. 

She guessed she was wearing less makeup than she had at one time, these days. It was just practical; she didn’t always have the time to put lots of effort into her appearance, and when she was going to do anything really active, heavy eye makeup tended to streak and smear, giving her a not very badass raccoon look. Her wardrobe tended to feature far less leather and black these days too, but the change also wasn’t intentional or planned. It was just that leather was expensive, and her stealing days were over, now that she was a fugitive; even with Willow’s “taking care of” Faith’s status in the federal system, Faith couldn’t keep living that kind of life and hope to always get away with it, either with consequences of the law or consequences of her own conscience. Not to mention, leather ruined pretty easily, and it was way more aggravating to have to pay to replay pants she had actually paid for herself.

Other than that, Faith looked more or less unchanged. Her hair was usually minimally brushed, long, wild, and wavy down her back, and she still didn’t do dresses, jewelry, or other overly girly adornments. She stuck to plain tanks and long-sleeved t’s with jeans or some kind of dark-colored pants, a basic if boring uniform that was a no-brainer to match up and didn’t really matter if stained or needing replaced. 

She wasn’t sure what the hell Buffy meant, saying her slightly dressed down “different” look was nice, but she appeared to be speaking genuinely, so Faith gave her a somewhat uncertain smile back.

“Uh, thanks, Buffy.” She paused, the words sticking briefly, and her eyes flitted up and down the length of Buffy’s body before she forced out, “you look different too…uh, it’s good.”

She wasn’t saying it to be polite. It was true. She had had to work to keep herself from staring or checking her out too obviously before this point in their encounter. 

Buffy’s change in appearance might not have been obvious to someone who wasn’t overly acquainted with her, but to Faith, it had been striking and a relief, saying more about Buffy’s shifted state of mind over the past few months than Buffy could have assure her of herself. Buffy had been disheveled in her dress or grooming before, at least not when she wasn’t immediately post battle, but fashion, hair and makeup had clearly been at the bottom of her priority list in the middle of their last apocalyptic encounter and immediately after. Now, Buffy’s style had hardly returned to that of the teenaged, girly-girl fashionista that she had been at one time, but Faith noticed that she had returned to dying her hair the California blonde shade she was used to, her roots once more carefully covered. She hadn’t teased it or styled it in the complicated buns, braids, and twists she had once favored (the ones that Faith thought took far more energy and time than any normal person would want to bother with), but her hair was neat, attractive, and far healthier than it had appeared when Faith saw her last. 

Buffy had also put on some weight. It probably wasn’t any more than five pounds or so, but on someone as slight as Buffy, it was enough to make a difference, and for the better. Buffy no longer had the sickly, stringy look indicating far too much stress and far too little sleep and food that Faith had secretly felt worry towards in Sunnydale. There were still circles under her eyes, just visible under her concealer if a person looked closely enough (and Faith did), but at least she was attempting to conceal them, and they didn’t appear to cut so deeply into her skin. Faith also didn’t fail to notice that her breasts appeared somewhat fuller, in the sort of way that spoke of actual flesh rather than a really good padded bra. 

There was a renewed strength in how Buffy held herself, in the slightly altered shape of her body and the expression of her face. She might not be still fighting demons or running down the city streets, but she regardless appeared to be in better physical and emotional shape than she had been, at least to Faith’s assessment. What Faith was most relieved to notice, though, was the dark, lost lack of focus in Buffy’s eyes had sharpened and shifted back into an attitude that was more alert, present, and alive. Buffy might not have the same confidence bordering on arrogance in her persona that Faith was accustomed to, but neither did she show the same disconnected, fragile, and borderline broken state she had revealed in their last true conversation. 

If nothing else, this version of Buffy was very much engaged in the world of the living. And that, more than anything, made Faith feel her journey had been worth making, no matter what else might pass between them.

“Okay, Faith,” Buffy said abruptly, and Faith hurriedly shifted her eyes to the side, trying to figure out how long she may have been staring. “I’ve been playing polite hostess, small talk catch up, but I can’t keep stalling. I need to hear it, no matter what it is you’ve come to say. I know it isn’t Dawn, since she helped you get here, so whoever it is…I can take it, okay?”

She took a slow breath, then released it through her nose, her eyes closing briefly as though to brace herself. Faith’s focus divided between her continued hyper-awareness of the space that Buffy’s body took up against and close beside her own and the controlled dread on the other woman’s face as Buffy addressed her again.

“So…who was it. Who’s died.”

“What?” Faith laughed, the noise short, somewhat startled, and coming more from surprised response than from genuine humor. “No one, Buffy, no one’s died.”

She thought better of that assurance, her head cocking slightly as she amended her own words.

“Well, actually a lot of someones did, but no one you know. Unless you know prostitutes and homeless people, which would be news to me. No judgment though if you do, I’ve probably got more than a few exes that meet that description.”

Buffy gave Faith a confused, somewhat concerned frown, appearing to be digesting and attempting to understand her words, before she gave a quick shake of her head, dismissing them outright. She sidestepped any talk of prostitutes, homeless people, and exes in her follow up question.

“Okay…no one’s dead. Then what did you find so important that you persuaded my sister into becoming an online criminal on your behalf, just so you could fly down here and…well, I still don’t know what exactly it is you’re doing here.”

“Right,” Faith nodded, shifting herself backwards in the small confines of Buffy’s couch and pressing one hip against its armrest in an effort to gain just a little more space for herself. “I guess this is the part where exposition is needed.”

It took her less time than she had expected to explain to Buffy what little was known about the murders and the speculation of their most likely cause. Faith watched Buffy carefully as she spoke, but the blonde gave little emotion or response to her words. Faith did notice her lips slowly press together as she spoke, and the knee touching Faith seemed to be exerting just a bit more pressure, as if Buffy’s body had grown heavier in its seated position.

“So, I’m assuming you’re not here to just give me updates on the academy’s latest kill cases,” Buffy stated, an edge of sarcasm to her words. “Or to warn me about my life being in danger, because even a serial killing Slayer isn’t very likely to drift down to Florida to target me personally. It doesn’t sound like I fit her victim prototype.”

“Two for two,” Faith affirmed, giving the other woman a small smile, even as she tensed, anticipating Buffy’s next guess- and the rejection she was almost certain was to follow.

“So if you’re not giving updates, and you’re not giving warnings- both which would be accomplished perfectly fine over an email or phone call- then you’re here to make a request.” 

Buffy paused, meeting Faith’s gaze with hers, and concluded evenly, her lighter hazel eyes still and focused on watching Faith’s darker ones.

“You want me to help you to find this Slayer, whoever and wherever she is, and stop her, however it is that we have to do it. And you might also be asking me to help you with whatever will be the aftermath.”

Faith had never thought of Buffy as stupid. Occasionally on the blonde side, yes, but never stupid. There was no point in hedging or qualifying her presence or requests when Buffy had guessed them in one.

“On the money,” she admitted, trying for a light, easy grin, but it felt forced and fake against her cheeks. “So…that’s the request, and Merrick and Dormer sent out their most chill and charming Slayer to make it in hopes of reeling you in. Actually,” she said more seriously, the smile easing a notch, “they don’t really know what I’m doing or where I went, other than your sister, and I pretty much am making the request on my own. Just for honesty’s sake, full disclosure. Since I’m turning over a new Slayer leaf and all.” She hesitated, resisting the urge to nervously lick her lips, before asking, “So, it’s pretty much just me asking, is what I mean. I only ask the best, and that’s you. So what do you think, sister Slayer, half of the original Chosen Two?”

Her tone was playful, as was her words, but the feeling of vulnerability behind them was genuine, and Faith hoped with some irritability at herself that Buffy didn’t see it in her face or read it in her eyes. 

She had expected hesitation, along with any possible array of facial expressions as Buffy considered or pretended to consider her request. But the woman’s answer was nearly immediate in coming, and without equivocation or efforts at justifying or explaining her response. 

“Yes, I’ll come with you. We’ll do what we need for this, together.”

Faith wasn’t sure that she had heard her correctly. She blinked, her eyes narrowing slightly, and tilted her head, assessing Buffy’s expression as she attempted to turn the words around in her brain, to shift them into something other than what she had first thought them to be. But they didn’t change, and neither did Buffy’s calm gaze. 

“Really?” she questioned, not even attempting to hide the surprise in her voice. 

“I said it, didn’t I?” Buffy pointed out, just a hint of playfulness edging into her voice as one sandy eyebrow arched. “Do I usually say something just to hear my own voice?”

“Well, those monologues you made back in Sunnydale point me to yes,” Faith rejoined. 

She was entirely serious in this response, so she was somewhat startled when Buffy snorted, giving a quick smile that she tried to suppress into a more serious expression. 

“Okay, I was running on lots of caffeine and next to no sleep, and the good thing about those speeches was all those girls would actually shut up for the length of time that I was speaking. Can you blame me for trying to extend the quiet for as long as possible?”

Faith’s laugh came out closer to a snort. She had almost forgotten that Buffy could have a sense of humor; it had been so long since she heard her making comments that were not entirely serious, too forced to be amusing, or verging on downright dark. As Faith looked her over again, she saw little changed in Buffy’s physical appearance from her first assessment, and yet she couldn’t help but see her in a slightly different way than before. 

Whatever Buffy had been doing, or not doing, she seemed to be coming back into a Buffy that Faith felt she knew, one she understood better than the Buffy she had last seen. That wasn’t to say that Buffy was unchanged from the girl she had been years back- that would have been impossible and not something Faith could have admired, given what the woman had been through since. But she did seem somewhat different since her departure from Cleveland, and not in a way that Faith disliked. 

“So you’ll go with me,” Faith repeated, still feeling the need to spell out what Buffy had agreed to for further confirmation that the woman did in fact understand what she had just said. “You’ll go with me to track this potentially murderous Slayer kid, and do whatever we need to with her to stop the murders.” She paused, then emphasized even more plainly, “You’ll go back into doing Slayer stuff with the Slayer lead of the Slayer headquarters.”

“Yes,” Buffy said with just as much emphasis to her tone as Faith had given in hers, although Faith suspected she was doing this partly in mocking. “You asked, and that was my answer. Yes. Understand now, or do I need to say it a few more ways?”

Her lips tipped, giving a lopsided smile. “You really should get that head of yours looked at by someone other than Giles. Seems like those comas of yours might be affecting your hearing, or maybe just your memory.”

Faith shook her head, smiling at the light teasing she had just been dealt. It seemed crazy enough that Buffy was teasing her in a way that wasn’t vicious or some kind of attack, let alone agreeing to the rather big favor she had asked of her. 

“Well…great, thanks. For the answer. That’s great. I just was kinda surprised. I figured you’d need a little more persuasion than that.”

“Why is that?” 

The question wasn’t sarcastic this time. Buffy seemed to genuinely wonder.

“Well, you did kind of fly across the country, without giving anyone your new address, and hide out like some kind of normal person, only maybe further to the abnormal side of the normal person scale, you being you,” Faith pointed out. “And you didn’t do much texting or calling or checking in on anyone. From what I hear,” she added quickly. She didn’t want to draw attention to the fact that not only had Buffy specifically not called, texted, or had any kind of contact with her, but that she had very much noticed it.

She shifted herself slightly on Buffy’s couch, tensing when her leg accidentally came into fuller contact against Buffy’s. She started to draw it back, but Buffy shifted too, her leg taking back the space that Faith had attempted to withdraw from. Faith wasn’t entirely sure it was an accident, or what it might mean if it wasn’t. 

Buffy exhaled, her slim shoulders slumping as she rolled her neck, stiff muscles giving an audible pop. 

“It wasn’t that I didn’t want to talk to anyone,” she said quietly. 

That sounded like an excuse if Faith had ever heard one. Her experience was that when people wanted to do something they did. She waited for a further explanation, and when one didn’t come, she couldn’t resist challenging her. 

“Well, if you wanted to talk to people, why didn’t you?”

Inwardly she cringed at the hint of anger, evenly tinged with hurt, she could hear in her own voice. It was too much, far more than she wanted to show or for Buffy to possibly discern. But if Buffy did hear it, she didn’t acknowledge it. Her expression was far off, focused on her thoughts rather than Faith’s response to them.

“Because I did want to,” Buffy answered her. “Because I wanted to talk to everyone. I wanted to know what they were doing, how they were doing. I wanted to know how their lives were, without me in them. If they were better, or worse, or really no different. I wanted to know if my presence or my absence mattered, but more than that, I wanted to know about the people I cared about. I wanted to know the things that I never had to ask, or never could ask, because I was there, with them.”

She sighed, her hand coming down to lightly rest on her own thigh. Her smallest finger brushed against Faith’s leg, and Faith felt the touch as strongly as if Buffy had squeezed her with the full force of her hand’s grasp.

“We’re different in that way, you and I,” Buffy continued. “Well, in a lot of ways, but in that way, especially. You’ve never had anyone to depend on, for a lot of your life. You haven’t said a lot about that, but I know it’s true. But that also meant that no one ever really depended on you. You made your own way, and there was no one you had to answer to or be responsible for. It hasn’t been like that for me. I haven’t lived my life as my own, or even really tried to, all the way, except one summer when I was 17, and that was just because I thought I didn’t have any other choice. I’ve gone the past seven years depending on being depended on, depending on being needed. I needed…I needed some time to live my life my own way, completely on my own. I needed to experience life as normal again, to be a normal woman with a normal life. And…well, normal girls don’t talk to their friends and family about slaying or monsters or demon gook and gore.”

She was probably right on that, not that Faith would know. She had never been a “normal girl” herself, even before being called as a Slayer. Generally being judged as normal involved being richer, more privileged, and connected to less dysfunctional relatives than she had grown up with. But although she couldn’t relate to the concept of being a normal girl and had seldom shared Buffy’s desire to lead her life as one, she could understand what the woman meant and nodded to indicate as such.

“I had to push it away, to be able to pretend it wasn’t there for me to reach out to,” Buffy continued to explain once she saw Faith’s affirmative gesture. “Otherwise, I couldn’t have really tried it out, the normal-girl way of life. So…I ignored it. Everything and everyone who connected me with being a Slayer, I tried to back away from, as much as possible. I tried out life as a normal girl, doing normal things.”

Faith could understand her track of thought, could even see that it made sense. That didn’t mean that she liked it or remained unbothered by it, but she could see why Buffy had made the choice she had made. Still, the edge had not fully left her voice when she responded.

“So…how was it, then? A normal life as a normal girl? Was it everything of your hopes and dreams?”

When she shifted her eyes to Buffy, she was somewhat thrown to see that the blonde was watching her, seeming to be assessing something in Faith that Faith wasn’t sure she wanted her to see or even attempt to figure out. Faith attempted to smooth her features into a blank, bored mask, but she wasn’t sure she had fully succeeded.

It had been easier to play things off like that, once. Throughout her time of knowing Buffy it had become a part of their strange, strained relationship for Faith to present no more than tiny, momentary pieces of her real thoughts and feelings, before slamming her mask of hardness, sexual teasing, or humor into place, dodging out of the way of anything real. She did this not because it was something she wanted to do, but because it had felt necessary. She could not have shown Buffy more than a small part of herself at a time; it would have been too painful if more than a piece was ever rejected, judged, or ignored. 

But Buffy looked at her now as though Faith had said something meaningful, or as though she could read in her, somehow, what Faith had never spoken or even known she had unintentionally conveyed. But that had to be Buffy misreading things, because she had never been overly observant or analytical when it came to Faith. Didn’t it?

Faith opened her mouth, ready to blurt a defensive question about what exactly Buffy was looking at, when Buffy spoke again, not quite answering what Faith had asked.

“The biggest reason I couldn’t really talk to anyone, Faith,” she started, and Faith wasn’t sure, but she thought the woman had put faint emphasis on the word “anyone,” as though what she really meant to imply was Faith herself, “was because I knew I would want to go back as soon as I did. The minute anyone implied that I was needed, or told me too much about what everyone was doing, or even if they said they missed me, one time too many, or in a tone that was too hard to hear…I would want to go back, and I might do it. Without stopping to think about why I was doing it, or if it was what I really wanted, or just what I was used to, and what I thought I should want. So I tried not to let that chance come up. Because I hadn’t given a normal life a fair chance yet, and I didn’t think I could know already, without making that effort, if I really wanted to go back, or if I just felt like I had to.”

For a woman who had said she didn’t say things just to hear her own voice, Buffy was using an awful lot of words to explain herself. Cutting out all the extras and trying to zone in on just the basics of what Buffy was saying, Faith thought she was still hearing a message that Buffy was going with her, that she was helping her, and it was what she wanted to do. But there had been a lot of uncertainty and “have to”s in there, so Faith pushed for clarity a final time, this time with some impatience. 

“Buffy, look, I know I asked, and I know you said yes, with about ten paragraphs after that. But if this isn’t something you want to do, then it’s not like I can’t do it on my own or find someone else to help out. No one’s demanding or begging you to do anything. I’m not saying I don’t want you to, because, yeah, I wouldn’t have asked otherwise, but if that’s the only reason you’re saying yes, because you think you need to or because someone asked-“

“Just because I’m saying yes because you asked, Faith, doesn’t meant that I’m not also saying yes because it’s what I want to do,” Buffy cut her off.

When Faith’s mouth opened, her face drawing into a scowl with her irritation and further confusion the girl’s explanation was giving her, Buffy smiled, putting up both hands in a pacifying gesture. 

“Okay, I can read that look. Enough with the circle talk. What I’m trying to say is I want to do this, and I think I always wanted to do this. But I was waiting for someone to ask me to come. I was waiting for someone to tell me that they wanted me back, because…well, I guess I didn’t feel like it was very cool to go off and go silent, then come crawling back on my own. I guess I didn’t know if I was still needed or even welcomed, until someone said that I was.”

Faith threw both hands up in disgusted exasperation, rolling her eyes almost hard enough to actually first.

“Buffy, the only thing anyone said to you when you left is how much they’d miss you and to come back whenever and if ever you were ready to! We practically worship your passive-aggressive ass, in what way did you really think that we would tell you they don’t want you, the ultimate of all history of all Slayers, to STAY AWAY from the all-Slayers headquarters?!”

Buffy’s smile grew smaller, more sheepish, and she shrugged, turning her hands palms up as Faith crossed her own arms over her chest, somewhat self-conscious by her own outburst. Especially because it had included the word “we,” indicating Faith, as well as others, as those who wanted, missed, and worshipped Buffy. 

“Well, things got pretty crazy in Sunnydale, and I was pretty…different, after. I still am. Things change, and people do too. One thing you can’t be certain of is certainty, especially about how other people feel.”

“I think what you really wanted was for someone to come knocking and begging,” Faith muttered, her eyes cast past Buffy’s shoulder rather than towards even the general direction of her eyes. “Glad to fulfill your fantasy, B. Anything else I can do for you before you pack your shit and come with me?”

“I wouldn’t say it’s what I wanted, but it definitely didn’t hurt,” Buffy answered. “And I’ll tell you this, Faith-“ Faith’s eyes shifted to meet hers briefly at the mention of her name, and Buffy held her gaze for the few seconds it took to finish her next two sentences. “I wouldn’t have said yes to just anyone. So I’m glad it was you who came.”

Faith didn’t know how she was supposed to take this declaration, or how it was that Buffy might have meant it. Nor had it yet dawned on her that both she and Dawn had been pretty accurate in their hunches on what had kept Buffy away, and what it would take to bring her back. There was far too much going on in the present for her to be able to think past Buffy’s present behaviors and her own internal response to them.

Analysis was not her strong suit, and it seemed far too dangerous, somehow, to ask more about what Buffy meant. So she just looked away, abruptly uncrossing her arms, and cleared her throat, changing the conversation to a topic she was far more comfortable to get answers to.

“You never said, B. What was the whole normal-girl life like for you?”

If Buffy was disappointed by Faith’s lack of reaction, she didn’t show it. Her face smoothed out, as unreadable to Faith as she hoped to make hers to Buffy when she replied.

“It wasn’t a life that was mine anymore. All I really got from that life was figuring out that I’m not normal, and it’s time I accepted that my life isn’t going to be either. And that I don’t want it to be.”

Faith nodded, allowing herself a small, if tight smile. When Buffy mirrored her expression, she cleared her throat again, waving a hand towards Buffy’s sparse apartment in a vague encompassing gesture.

“So…think about what you think you’ll need, then, all right? And start with the packing. Guess you better give your work and landlord a call too, let them know when you might be back. Or if you’re ever gonna be.”

She expected Buffy to nod agreement and retrieve her phone, but Buffy just flapped a dismissive hand, barely glancing over her shoulder. 

“It isn’t worth the effort. My boss won’t bother to even call to check on me if I just never show for work again, and I can call my landlord and deal with the deposits and all the other tenant annoyances later. Give me five minutes and I’ll have everything I need. The rest can stay here.”

“Stay here, as in, forever,” Faith needed her to clarify again, the words as much a statement as a question. 

Buffy was finally moving past her, knocking her shoulder lightly against Faith’s in a manner that could have been accidental, or could have been a playful, deliberate gesture of something near affection. She answered from the doorway of what Faith assumed to be her bedroom, not bothering to look back over her shoulder first.

“Yep, as in.”

“Um…you might have misunderstood how immediate the need is for the packing and leaving,” Faith called out to Buffy’s turned back as the blonde disappeared into the now opened bedroom. “I wasn’t sure how long I’d have to explain things to you, or if you’d slam the door in my face or tell me you couldn’t leave for another five days because of prior commitments, or whatever else you might have thrown my way. So…actually, I don’t have a flight back to Cleveland booked yet, and this car’s a rental.”

Buffy’s head popped back from around the door frame, and Faith was pretty sure she was seeing disappointment in the slight pucker of her brow.

“Oh…right.” 

The rest of her body emerged, and she stood somewhat awkwardly in front of the door for a few moments, then continued forward to rejoin Faith, her chin lifted, shoulders squared as though in preparation for battle. Faith barely had time to wonder what the hell she was steeling herself to fight before she was engulfed by strong, slim arms, drawn into a firm embrace against Buffy. 

She had only begun to register that Buffy had hugged her, deliberately, without any sort of strong emotional meltdown, restraint in battle, or Heimlich maneuver requiring it, before the other woman pulled back, her expression almost defiant when she looked at Faith’s dumbfounded gawking.

“I just remembered that I didn’t exactly say hello or give you a friendly welcome to my home hug, back at the door,” she qualified, some defensiveness in her tone. “So I just did, belatedly. That was the hug, and this is the hello. Hello, Faith. Welcome to my…I guess it’s my temporary apartment, not my home. Whatever, welcome to it.”

Faith stared at her for a few more seconds, then felt her mouth crack open in a wide smile, a burst of laughter escaping. After a few moments of uncertainty, Buffy laughed a little too. 

The woman might be passive-aggressive and infuriating, and she was definitely not great at sending out clear messages in her communication or intentions. But what Faith sometimes forgot was that she was also genuinely funny and goofy, sometimes, and even dorky, occasionally, in an all too endearing fashion.


	7. Chapter 7

Faith’s planning hadn’t extended much past showing up and talking Buffy into coming with her back to Cleveland. She had been thorough in her plotting of how to get to Buffy in Florida, less so on what and how they would depart, should Buffy agree to go. As it turned out, the next appropriate flight out wouldn’t take place until six am the following day, and that left them with a block of time of approximately 18 hours of waiting. 

Yep, she definitely could have timed this better. 

Buffy seemed to find this realization as awkward as Faith did. She stood a few feet away from her, rocking her weight onto one hip, arms crossed loosely over her chest as she regarded her. 

“Well…I guess you’ll be staying the night, then,” she determined after a pause. “It doesn’t make sense to get a hotel room if you’re checking out at four or five in the morning, that isn’t even worth paying for. I mean, I only have one bed here, but we managed under those circumstances once before and we both have all limbs. Actually, it might be best if we don’t bother sleeping, I do better pulling an all nighter instead of just a few hours of sleep. Sometimes nothing actually is better than something. Sleep-wise, anyway.”

Faith understood and agreed with the logic. She could do just fine without sleep for a night or two; it was taking a one to two hour catnap that messed up your flow. 

“Sounds like a plan,” she nodded her agreement, exhaling. “All nighter it is.”

That actually left them with even more time to fill, something that again only occurred to them in hindsight. Seeming to want something to do, Buffy again offered Faith a drink, this time specifying that coffee might be a good plan to help power them through the evening to come. Although Faith doubted the girl’s ability to make a decent cup of coffee, she accepted. 

Buffy did, as it turned out, have chairs other than the couch/loveseat, although they were of the fold-up, metal variety. She brought them both out from a tiny closet, along with a small folding table more the size of a TV tray, and set them up, gesturing for Faith to come sit.

“It’s slightly less claustrophobic like this,” she explained. “At least for people under 5’7, if you’re taller than that or have especially long legs, your knees might hit the table some.”

Faith was two inches under that marker, so she fit fine, although she still felt somewhat like a gawky teenager trying to sit at a child’s tea set table. The coffee Buffy served her as she sat across from her was dark and strong, but more drinkable than she had expected.

It was also easier than she had expected to make conversation. Small talk had never been Faith’s strong point, mainly because it generally seemed pointless and boring, but she honestly was interested to know what it was Buffy had been doing with herself in Florida. 

She expected, when she asked, to hear Buffy talk about shopping centers and beaches, coffee shops or cool bars and clubs. Instead, the blonde made a scrunched face down at her coffee, taking a long sip as though steeling herself to even reply, before answering with obvious dread. 

“I’m…working at a call center.”

She narrowed her eyes at Faith, visibly bracing herself for the other woman’s laughter, but Faith was initially too taken aback to have such a response.

“…call center? Like, with cubicles?”

“Yes,” Buffy lifted her chin, but there was only so much dignity that could be maintained as Faith’s lips started to twitch.

“A call center…you left your job, as a Slayer, one of the most powerful positions possible for a woman to have, and moved to Florida…to work in a call center?!”

“Well, I hate retail, the one time I tried that, it was literally a never-ending time loop of hell, emphasis on literally,” Buffy muttered down to her mug, hands clinching around it. “I tried construction before and there were far, far too many questions and problems that came up there, so anything that would involve using strength, speed, or abnormal healing ability around the normal people would be a no for me. That rules out police work, personal trainer, or marathon-runner. I’m not really that good with kids, or animals either, so pet or kid-watcher is out. And I’ve done the fast food and waitress jobs, I really, really didn’t want to start them again if I could avoid it. Since all I have to my name is my high school diploma, what with never getting past year two of college…that limits my options a lot. Call center sounded like the best of my available options…hey, enough with the laugh track already!”

“I get it, I hear you,” Faith lifted a hand in appeasement, though she made no effort to stop her snickering. “But…isn’t call center pretty much…the place where salespeople work?” She snorted in spite of Buffy’s glare. “Salespeople, as in the people who piss people off calling at dinner time to try to sell them vacuum cleaners?”

“No,” Buffy muttered grumpily, exhaling. “I did not call people at dinner time trying to sell them vacuums.” She paused, then added quietly enough that Faith almost didn’t hear, “I called them first thing in the morning and throughout the afternoon, trying to sell them life insurance.”

This qualification did not help her case in maintaining dignity. Faith’s snickering became full, sputters of laughter, and only Slayer reflexes prevented her from spilling her coffee. 

“Okay, okay…so they have the girl who died twice before the age of 21…selling life insurance?! You would be your own best customer, and totally scamming the system on top of it!”

Buffy’s attempt to hold her scowl in Faith’s direction was not very effortful. The corners of her mouth flickered in spite of herself, fighting a smile.

“The thought did cross my mind.”

“Okay,” Faith held a hand up, swallowing in an effort to pull herself together, even as dimples flickered in and out of view in her cheeks from her suppressed smirk. “So you…sold life insurance…”

She snorted again, unable to stop herself, then gave a faint utterance of surprise and some pain when Buffy kicked her under the card table, hard.

“Okay, okay, moving on! So…what else have you been doing, then?”

“Nothing,” Buffy said simply. 

She ran a hand through her hair, shaking it back over her shoulders, and Faith noticed that as they spoke her hands had been engaged in something each moment, whether holding her coffee, resting flat on the table, or playing with her hair. Was it possible that she was nervous? I

“That was the point of this, Faith. Of trying out a normal life. I wasn’t supposed to be doing much of anything. I wasn’t taking a vacation from my Slayer life, I was trying on a normal-person life. And normal people do normal things. Chores, jobs, routines. Normal. Going out on the town by yourself, in a place where you don’t know anyone, is vacation behavior, not normal-life going about your normal-routine behavior.”

“So…you seriously just worked your life insurance job, and like…went grocery shopping, and laundromat-ing, and…what, for hair and dentist appointments?” Faith asked slowly, as the reality of Buffy’s choice began to sink in. “What do normal people even do every day?”

“That was what I was trying to figure out,” Buffy nodded, her hands now entwined around her coffee cup, though she didn’t raise it again to her lips. “Turns out, pretty much what you just said.”

Buffy hadn’t said, in so many words, just what she had thought about carrying out this “normal” way of life. But Faith couldn’t keep back her own opinion of it.

“Jesus, Buffy, that sounds so damn boring. How did you get through a day without wanting to scratch your brain out of your own friggin’ head?”

She had expected, once she heard the words leave her mouth, for Buffy to get defensive or irritable, or at least to make some sort of feeble attempt to defend her actions. But Buffy’s hazel eyes lit up, and she nodded fervently, her response empathic in tone. 

“It was a close call some days, seriously. I do not recommend you hearing my customer’s service voice, because I swear, it’s more bright and bubbly than the Buffybot’s, and far less human.”

“The…what?” Faith blinked, then shook her head, smirking. “You know what, never mind. If that has anything at all to do with Spike, or sex, or god forbid, some scary combination of the two, I’m totally cool with staying in the dark on that.”

“You know, this whole time, I’ve been telling myself that it’s nice to know what I’m doing and where I’m going every day. I’ve been telling myself that having a stable, calm life, where I can reasonably expect that nothing dead or undead will cross my path, is a relaxing, stress-free kind of life that I should get used to and enjoy,” Buffy continued, ignoring Faith’s comments on the Buffybot. “That’s what I’ve been telling myself, and Dawn and anyone else, if they asked. But what I’ve really been thinking, no matter how hard I try not to, is….god, is this really all there is to normal? This is what I’ve wanted, all this time, and this is it? How can people stand to be so bored?”

Faith chuckled, giving a nod of acknowledgement as she raised the remnants of her coffee cup just enough to lightly tap against Buffy’s.

“Preach. Been wondering how long it would take you to figure that out, B. Once you’ve got a taste of action, there’s no going back.”

That had been what had gotten to her in her time in prison, almost as badly as her slow to fade self-hatred. Faith had been used to a life without rules or routines, with constant action and stimulation, in which she herself was continually on the move. Getting used to prison rules and regimes, not to mention spending the majority of her day in a small space with nothing happening, had been almost as difficult as learning what it took to earn others’ respect, and to begin to respect herself.

“So what about you, Faith?” Buffy asked, startling Faith out of her own thoughts, drifting back to her prison memories. “What have you been doing, other than this new case with the maybe-Slayer killer?”

“Oh, same things as when you left, pretty much,” Faith told her with a somewhat dismissive shrug. “Slay, stalk, steer the potentials into damaging something other than each other or human bystanders. Hey, you did hear about Angel, right? The law firm thing? And Spike, being back and ghostly? Did someone tell you about that?”

“Yes, I heard,” Buffy nodded, showing little shift in her expression or tone to give Faith some kind of indication as to her response to these rather huge changes. “Not in a lot of detail, but I was trying not to ask for much more information than was offered. I haven’t spoken to either of them yet, and I’m not sure yet if I’m going to.”

Why the hell not was the obvious question, one Faith was very much wanting to know and ask. But something about the way Buffy answered and the lack of emotion in her face made her keep the words back. Nevertheless, she herself had plenty of opinions on it, and she didn’t see anything wrong with expressing them- and so possibly pushing Buffy to saying something about her own thoughts, as a result.

“I don’t get it, really. I know Angel, and he does what he thinks is right, not for him but for, like, the city, or the world overall, or whatever seems most important to him. I know he’s a good man…person? Who the hell knows what a vampire is, exactly, especially one with a soul. But I know he’s good, at least that he has a soul now, anyway. I think he’s taking the law firm over because he thinks it’s right, but I also know that sometimes when he thinks he’s doing right other people are smarter and know him and how he thinks, and they use it to play him. And this law firm thing, it’s damn wrong, if you ask me, and it’s gonna bite him in the ass before he sees it coming. And with the Spike thing…who the hell ever heard of a vampire ghost? How is that even possible? Is it because of the soul thing? Will that happen to Angel, too, if he dies- is he gonna come back ghost-y? Or-“

“Faith,” Buffy interrupted, some amusement softening her eyes and tone. “When I asked what you’ve been doing, I didn’t mean with slaying, or the academy, and I didn’t ask about anyone else. I actually did want to hear about you. How has your life been going? Your life-life, not your Slayer life. How have you been- you?”

It was the most sincere way that Faith could remember Buffy ever addressing her, the most attention she could remember the other woman directing her way in response to Faith doing so little. And the question itself…it wasn’t one that Faith was accustomed to being asked, especially not from Buffy Summers. 

And it wasn’t a question that Faith was sure she knew the answer to. It wasn’t one she often asked of herself. What exactly was she, or her life, without slaying or some ties back to it?

The first, most sincere response that rose to Faith’s mind was that she had been missing Buffy. But there was no way in hell she was going to say that, at least not in the serious way that she had felt it. The best she could come up with was an uncomfortable shrug, and an answer that wasn’t quite an answer at all.

“There’s not a lot to say,” Faith said finally. “It’s been good. Definitely been worse before…yeah, it’s been good.”

Obviously, this wasn’t enough to satisfy Buffy. She prodded for more, raising an eyebrow. 

“So…any weekend parties worth the hangover? New hobbies, friends…dating around, or anyone in particular?”

That was about five questions at once, too many for Faith to keep up with or prioritize in answering. The real question she wanted to ask was why the hell was Buffy suddenly so interested in her and what was the information she was truly fishing for. That seemed a tad on the rude side, though, even for Faith, even if she didn’t fully trust Buffy’s interest. So she just shrugged again, shifting herself in her seat with continued unease at the woman’s attention.

“Like I said, it’s been cool, nothing standing out. Why, are you wanting to know anything specific here?”

“No, no,” Buffy said quickly- too quickly for Faith to really believe her. “No, I was just…curious. No.”

An extremely awkward silence spread between them, and Faith noticed that Buffy was no longer looking at her, her fingers tracing the pattern of her cup. She felt that Buffy was hinting, somehow, at something she didn’t quite understand, waiting for Faith to say or do whatever it was she was hoping for. But how the hell was Faith supposed to respond how Buffy wanted, if she had no idea what that was? 

It had seemed so much easier, somehow, before Buffy left. Faith wouldn’t want her to fall back into the exhausted, grim apathy and depression that had set an aura so dark around her that it seemed to physically weight her, but without that shared recognition of what it was to feel such darkness, how was she supposed to relate to her now? Was this how it would always be, when there was no immediate crisis at hand?

“So, what’s fun around here?” Faith asked abruptly, the words coming out a little louder than she had intended. “We’ve got a lot of time to kill, and apparently not a lot to say, so...”

Buffy shrugged, seeming somewhat glad rather than offended by Faith’s blunt way of both addressing and breaking the strained quiet that had been growing. 

“It’s a beach town. So…pretty much, there’s the beach. And beach-y activities.”

“So, let’s beach it,” Faith decided. 

Getting to her feet, she extracted herself from the small confines of the card table, then held out a hand to pull Buffy to her feet as well. She hadn’t been sure that Buffy would accept her hand rather than insisting on standing on her own, and a small thrill of triumph ran through her when Buffy did allow the touch and helping gesture.

“Do you have a bathing suit?” Buffy asked, a reasonable enough question, considering that it was one article of clothing Faith had not though to bring. “If not, you can borrow one of mine. One of the tie kinds should adjust enough to work for you.”

One of them did, as it turned out. Bringing Faith into her bedroom, still holding the hand Faith had offered her and using it in a somewhat unnecessary gesture to lead her through, Buffy nodded towards the tiny dresser across from her bed. Faith’s hand felt strangely cool, almost void, when Buffy finally dropped it to rummage through a drawer to extract several bikinis and toss them on the bed. Choosing a burgundy halter one for herself, Buffy gestured towards the others on the bed.

“Try one of these.”

Buffy had given her three options in turquoise, dark pink, and white, none colors that Faith would have selected for herself, but could definitely imagine on Buffy. She chose the turquoise one, noting that its top looked somewhat fuller than the other two and more likely to accommodate her larger breasts. Glancing back at Buffy, she waited to follow the other woman’s cues, as far as dressing and undressing etiquette. A few months back, Buffy had shown no shyness or awkwardness about undressing in front of her, but then, she had also been physically and emotionally battered beyond the point of caring about anything much at all. Things could be different now with this, and Faith wasn’t about to assume otherwise. 

And they were, a little. Not enough for Buffy to retreat into the bathroom to change, but enough that she did bite her lip slightly, glancing at Faith, before turning her back to change. Faith took that as permission to change in the same room, slightly turned away as well, but she did catch a glimpse of Buffy’s body out the corner of her eye, enough to note that though still thin, Buffy looked more capable of at least somewhat filling out a bikini than she had a few months back. And for just a moment, as Faith bit the inside of her cheeks to force back any overly intrusive thoughts, she wondered why the hell she had gone and suggested an activity that involved so little clothing. 

Buffy finished changing just after Faith had and turned to regard her with a critical eye, assessing the fit of the swimsuit. Faith smiled, arching her neck back and sticking her chest forward in a dramatic pose.

“What, you like?”

“It will work,” Buffy said.

It was not quite an answer to the question, but Faith noted how her eyes lingered just a little longer than Faith thought was probably really needed. That probably had to do with the tightness of the suit, cutting slightly into Faith’s hips and exposing more cleavage than it was probably intended to. But was the look due to Buffy being rational and concerned about embarrassment, or for another, less logical reason- one more along the lines of why Faith herself was keeping her eyes above the line of Buffy’s shoulders? 

It took another fifteen minutes for them to gather towels, sunglasses, and sunscreen, as well as to make the short walk from Buffy’s apartment complex to the main public pier, leading to the closest expanse of shoreline Buffy knew of. They had to go a few blocks and cross a busy road to get there, but it still seemed to Faith barely moments before they stood in front of the seemingly endless flow of the ocean. She stared out at it, feeling dwarfed and alone before it, and almost forgot the existence of the other beachgoers around her until she felt Buffy come to stand beside her, almost close enough for their shoulders to touch.

Faith breathed in deeply, filling her lungs with the warmth of the ocean breeze, and closed her eyes, basking in the heat of the afternoon sun against her skin. She heard rather than saw the smile in Buffy’s voice and was sure without opening her eyes that the other woman was watching her.

“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?”

It was, of course. But it was Buffy’s face, not the scenery around them, that Faith saw in her mind’s eye as she answered her.

“Yeah, it is.”

Another lingering breeze lifted Faith’s hair back from her shoulders, and when she opened her eyes, she saw that it had mingled in part with Buffy’s in their proximity to each other. Neither woman made an effort to step aside or claim more personal space for themselves, and yet Faith felt none of the awkward hyper-awareness of their positioning to each other than she had felt before, in the closed space of Buffy’s apartment.

“Do you come here a lot?” she asked, turning her face slightly towards Buffy as she spoke. “’Cause when I think Florida, I think red tides, rabid gators, and gigantic sewer monsters, not sunny skies and surfs. Is this kind of day just a wild card?”

“No…no, actually it’s pretty much always like this,” Buffy answered thoughtfully, surprise creeping into her tone. She shifted her eyes towards the water, her sandy eyebrows slanting faintly. “I guess I didn’t really notice. Maybe because I didn’t really go out much. Here, or anywhere else.”

“Why? With weather like this, days like this? What exactly was keeping you from being Buffy the Beach Babe?” 

Buffy’s head didn’t turn, but her eyes shifted back to Faith’s, hesitant, still holding the same contemplation. Her answer was slow in coming, but quietly sincere.

“I guess…I guess I thought it wouldn’t be the same, to come alone. I always thought I wanted time to myself, but it turns out that being alone is just lonely.”

Faith’s full lips pressed together, and she swallowed, her head inclining almost unconsciously in a small nod. She had spent years denying and running from this reality, but it was true, however often she had wished otherwise. Having no one but oneself to turn to was difficult, dark, and as Buffy had said, lonely, desperately so. 

“Yeah,” she said quietly, unsure of what Buffy might need to hear. Was it just acknowledgement or understanding she wanted, or comfort? And if it was comfort, how, exactly, could she do that?

“Yeah,” she said again, exhaling. “Well…you’re not alone now.”

The words sounded stupid to her as soon as she said them. Obviously Buffy wasn’t alone, not with Faith standing right there not even inches away. Fuck, she sucked at words sometimes, let alone comfort. 

But to her own bemusement, Buffy smiled gently, genuinely, and held her gaze. However ridiculous and lame Faith sounded to herself, somehow Buffy seemed appreciative, as though Faith’s words held more meaning to her than Faith had actually intended.

“No. No, I guess I’m not, am I?”

Faith fought a sudden impulse to wrap an arm around Buffy’s waist, bridging the small distance remaining still between them in a gesture that would pull Buffy into her side. She thought that Buffy might accept such an action, maybe, possibly even welcome it. It felt strangely right, even needed. She felt the muscles of her bicep twitch with the desire, but in the end her lingering tension and self-doubt caused her to simply nudge Buffy’s hip with hers in what she hoped came across as a playful, casual motion. 

“Bet you don’t know how to body surf, B.” 

Buffy huffed lightly, one sandy eyebrow lifting in mild defensiveness. Faith had learned over time that one certain way to distract her was always to challenge her. Whether it was because she was a Capricorn or just because she was Buffy, the girl couldn’t seem to resist being informed that there was anything in the world she couldn’t do.

“You sure that’s a bet you want to make? I did grow up in California.”

“Yep, bet still stands,” Faith asserted, letting her features shift into a smirk. “Actually, I’m upping it. Bet you can’t body surf, and I bet I’ll teach myself how to do it faster than you can.”

Now the defensiveness in Buffy’s expression had given way to near outrage, her mouth actually falling open. She widened her eyes, nearly sputtering her protest. “Faith, you’re from Boston! Do they have water anywhere at all?”

“They have beaches,” Faith said truthfully, although it was also true that she had rarely actually spent time at any of them and in fact had not learned to swim until she was living with her Watcher. “What, you think being the California blonde gives you the edge on water sports? I’ll grant you the edge over me with the blonde hair and the Valley girl accent, but everything else, no way, I’ve got you beaten out.”

Buffy’s eyes narrowed, and she lifted her chin in a determined slant. “I have never had a Valley girl accent. At least, not since I dropped cheerleading. Or at least since I went to college. I definitely haven’t had a Valley girl accent since college!”

So that was what she chose to focus on? Obviously a sore spot. Amused, Faith tucked that accidental discovery into her memory, reserving for further teasing use in the future. 

“Right, like I said, you’ve got the edge on the California accent, but anything athletic, let’s face it, B, we both know girly girls don’t do sports. And no, cheerleading definitely does not count.”

“Oh, is that what you think?” Buffy muttered, the steel in her voice matched in full by her posture and expression as she turned towards the ocean, facing it head on. “We’ll just see about that. Maybe I’m an ex-Valley girl, but I’ve spent way more time in action than you, and you missed out a hell of a lot of practice time in comas and sitting in a cell. You sure your body is as toned up as your mouth?”

“Guess we’ll see,” Faith replied. 

Letting herself smile, she grabbed Buffy’s wrist, giving it a strong tug forward towards the water before dropping her arm and breaking into a run. She had every intention of beating the other woman to the waves. She had counted on Buffy being too offended or taken off guard to have much of a chance, but she had underestimated the speed of her reflex, and in what seemed less time than it would take for her to blink, Buffy was abreast of her, easily keeping astride. To her startled, amused indignation, Buffy was also far less opposed to cheating than Faith would have guessed. The blonde showed no hesitation in grabbing hold of Faith’s hair and yanking hard. As Faith yelped, slapping out at Buffy’s still clutching hand, Buffy slung her other arm around Faith’s waist, using the momentum of her slinging arm and the continued forward movement of her body to throw Faith sideways. As Faith stumbled, trying to keep herself from falling to the sand, Buffy continued forward, beating her to the water’s edge.

“You were saying?” she called over her shoulder, satisfaction coating her words as she slogged through the water, already at thigh level before Faith had even reached the wettest part of the sand. 

“What the fuck, that was dirty, Buffy Summers!” Faith shouted, but there was no real anger in her words. In fact, when Buffy laughed, genuine happiness in the sound, Faith had to bite her cheeks to stop herself from beaming in automatic response to it. How long had it been since she heard Buffy laugh like that, without sarcasm, anger, or weariness tainting the pleasure behind it?

“Since when do you play by the rules, Faith? Keep up if you can!”

And so Faith did, however it was she had to try. Forty-five minutes later, she felt light-headed with laughter, and her throat felt raw from the gallon of salt water she had consumed both while wrestling with Buffy in the water for “payback” and in her attempts to body surf. As it turned out, body surfing wasn’t quite as easy now that she was 21 as it had been when she was 14, and Slayer strength and athleticism seemed to have little to do with whether or not the water would hold her up. If anything, both she and Buffy seemed far more likely to sink, maybe because their increased muscle mass as a Slayer made them heavier and more dense. Neither had really won the bet, but by the time they slogged out of the waves, both had forgotten the original challenge. 

As Faith let herself collapse back on one of Buffy’s beach towels, she felt strangely light, as though her limbs were made of something not quite real. She noticed a new ease in Buffy’s movements as she watched the girl sit on the other towel beside her, and although it may have had to do with the sunburn that Buffy was complaining she had probably obtained, the other girl looked brighter to her, as though her body were barely containing an inner light. Faith eased herself up on her elbows, dimly aware of the clinginess of her borrowed damp suit against her own skin as she observed, fascinated, the beads of water slowly trailing their way down Buffy’s partially turned back. Even the mundane gestures of Buffy’s fingers, combing through her tangled hair held her interest. It seemed different, worth her attention, than it would have with another woman, because this was no ordinary woman beside her. 

When Buffy turned back towards her, catching the soft hint of a smile Faith had not quite realized she was showing, she paused for a moment, appearing hesitant, confused. But then Buffy smiled back, easing herself back onto her own towel, partially raised on her own elbows, in a possibly deliberate mirror of Faith’s position. When Faith felt Buffy’s fingers lightly cover her own hand several minutes later, she caught her breath, her heart skipping a beat, but when she scanned Buffy’s face, the other girl’s eyes were closed, her features set in neutral lines. So with a slow release of breath, Faith let her fingers open just enough to slip Buffy’s fingers into hers, then to close, just enough for their hands to entwine.


	8. Chapter 8

Every Sunday morning, rain or shine, wind or snow, Verity Catlett could be found in her usual seat at her usual pew in St. Joseph’s Catholic Church.

Verity didn’t attend church because of family obligation or tradition, for the Catletts had never been religious. She felt no reverence or even belief for God or any other deity. Verity attended mass and other church gatherings not because she had faith, but because it made her appear pious, devoted, and far more mature than other children her age. Therefore, she was far more likely, whatever her actual behavior, to fall under an umbrella of suspicious for the suspicious events that so often occurred around her presence.

Verity had observed at an early age that most of her peers and the adults that she knew were involved in some sort of religious activities. This seemed to be a societal norm, one that reassured everyone that your family was dedicated to being “good”. She had listened closely to any talk she heard of church and religion and pressed others for details of their church experiences, also noting the general impressions that those not involved in specific practices seemed to hold towards those who did. At the age of nine, Verity had judged that Catholicism seemed the most strict and most respected of the “normal” (i.e., not Jehovah’s witness or Jewish) religions of her peers. Catholicism had the most rules to keep up with and also had the most clear and exclusive beliefs as to how to keep holy and righteous, and yet, it was exactly for this that Verity chose to make the religion her own. 

Following rules outwardly and publicly, while breaking them unnoticed, had always been easy for her to do. It seemed to Verity that Catholicism would perfectly serve her in this way. From what she understood, if she followed their rules, attended their services, and knew their creed, she would be judged as particularly above reproach. Her supposed religious beliefs would be a foil for almost anything she wanted to cover, if she could follow and yet break their rules just right. 

By the age of nine, Verity had befriended the Catholic girls in her classes who appeared most serious about their family’s religion and began asking to sleep over at their houses on Saturday evenings, knowing there would then be a good chance she would be invited to attend their church service with the family. Verity made certain to follow along and behave as flawlessly both in the homes and churches as she could manage, and within a few months she had announced both to the families and to her own parents her intention to convert to Catholicism. 

Her parents had accepted Verity’s decision as one of the mysterious indications of her precociousness, showing little in the way of a reaction. Both had gone along with her insistence that they attend mass with her on Christmas and Easter services, at the least, and they had allowed her to accept rides to and from the weekly Sunday services without protest or many questions. Verity caught on quickly to the information, prayers, and rituals she was expected to know and take part in, and although at age nine, she was considered somewhat old to be taking her first confession and communion, she did so with a solemn air that many of the giggling, preening younger children in her group did not possess. Verity knew they were mostly pleased more with the attention they got in their pretty bride-like dresses, but she didn’t judge them for it. Her own reasons for the act were more complicated, but just as heavily based in keeping up appearances. 

She participated in all church activities that she could, made took catechism at age 12 and was confirmed as a full member of the Catholic church shortly after her father’s death. She made her confessions regularly and without a twinge of guilt or any intention whatsoever to carry out repentance for the mild “sins” she invented to share. To Verity, it was all part of a long, elaborate game, one that she was winning each time she won over another churchgoer’s approving smile or was held up as an example against another child. 

Even more than Verity enjoyed using her prominent status as a pious Catholic girl to enhance her reputation, she found her frequent presence in the church useful for finding out information she might not otherwise have been privy to. Churches were settings in which people became more open in discussing their guilt and their failures, their struggling with addictions, emotions, and supposed sin, all which Verity carefully filed away for possible future use against those disclosing. During prayer requests, she also learned of personal tragedies such as illness, family problems, and worries that were also possible ammunition. Verity discovered that asking others if there was anything she could pray for them over was one of the best possible ways to learn how best to exploit and hurt, all while appearing sweetly concerned and empathetic.

It was a tactic that gave her full range and yet ample self protection, time and time again. And her latest target was no different. 

Even the other girl’s name annoyed her. Giabella, of all things, Giabella Higgins. It was sappy, prissy, and ridiculous, just like the girl herself. Even worse, Giabella refused to go by a nickname like any other kid saddled with that monstrosity would have. No, she was actually proud of having the most stupid moniker Verity had heard of, including her own, which she had always considered to be both ironic and obnoxiously pretentious. 

“I was named after the super model Gia,” Giabella often announced grandly, whether or not anyone asked her. “Bella means beautiful in Italian, so all together, my name means beautiful Gia.” 

Verity had once been bored enough to look up the supposed model Gia for herself. As it turned out, the woman had been a drug addict hooker who died of AIDS in the eighties, hardly the kind of namesake most kids would be thrilled to blabber on about. The only thing Verity found worthwhile about this new knowledge was old Angelina Jolie movie about the woman, which had contained enough drugs and lesbian sex to interest her.

Beyond her stupid name, there was little of interest about Giabella herself. She was new to the area and therefore to Verity’s church, and although she was eleven years old, there were so few children of Verity’s age range whom were active in St Joseph’s that Giabella was automatically grouped into most activities that Verity herself was. There were few people in the world that Giabella liked, even less that she respected, and Giabella Higgins was not one of them. Truthfully, her frilly, impractical dresses, carefully styled pigtails, and monogrammed belongings had been enough for Verity to despise the spoiled, childish little girl on sight. Then when Giabella actually spoke, her eager, awkward mannerisms and anxious efforts to follow rules had been enough for Verity to resolve to make her the next person she aimed to destroy. 

As a sheltered, religiously schooled only child of a wealthy family, Giabella was a girl who looked as though she had never had a sinful thought in her life. But by the time Verity was through with her, she would be certain that any innocence Giabella had was ruined to the extent that no one would ever be able to look her in the eye again with the memory of the child she had been. And if Verity played it just right, maybe, just maybe, Giabella would be so devastated with her own corruption that she would be unable to live with her new, sullied self. 

Verity’s long term, ultimate goal for Giabella Higgins was for the girl to be the first person Verity succeeded in driving to suicide. 

Once she had set her sights on Giabella, it wasn’t difficult for Verity to begin the first stages of her plan. She started to seek the girl out in the church, making small talk in passing, accompanying her into the restroom and chattering with her lightly as she waited for Giabella to finish. She made certain to compliment the girl on her clothes or hairstyles, smiling and expressing admiration no matter how long-winded and revolting the child’s responses. She sat beside Giabella during catechism and in mass, shared her hymnbook, and asked her if there was anything she could pray over on her behalf. Meanwhile, made subtle comments and gestures to turn the other girls against Giabella or to point out her most annoying traits, all the while showing kindness and sympathy to the girl’s face. She made certain to do the same in kind with Giabella, quietly giving her both true and fictional information about the other children that would add to Giabella’s feelings of them disliking her and talking badly about her when her back was turned. 

Because Giabella was young, new, and socially awkward, it took less than two months before Verity was the only person she trusted and regarded as a friend. She invited Verity home with her after Sunday mass, sometimes texted or called her on the phone during the week, and even gave Verity half of a glitzy “Best friends” necklace, which Verity made sure to wear only in her presence. Giabella’s trust and acceptance of Verity’s supposed interest and loyalty to her caused her to begin sharing information she might not have with those she didn’t view as her friend. Soon Verity was privy to the knowledge of Giabella’s mother’s miscarriages before and after Giabella’s birth, her father’s drinking habit, Giabella’s bedwetting until the age of eight, and her learning disability, all of which had contributed to Giabella’s anxiety and social difficulties. But none of this caused Verity to view the younger child with sympathy or to change her view or plan towards her. If anything, it only strengthened her confidence in her ability to carry it out.

Giabella’s vulnerabilities and her family’s stressors were not a reason for Verity to show her mercy. They were just useful tools to be used for Verity’s gain and Giabella’s loss. 

The day that Faith Lehane flew to Florida in pursuit of Buffy Summers, Verity made the first “major” move in Giabella’s corruption. She had accepted Giabella’s invitation to stay over Saturday night and then go to church with her family, about six weeks since her first efforts to “befriend” her. This left her with more time alone with Giabella than she normally would have, and she judged the timing to be right at last to really set things rolling in her plan. 

Giabella, of course, had started to drag all of her numerous and expensive American Girl dolls out, along with their coordinated outfits and accessories, intending for Verity to play with her. As though Verity, 13 years old, would be interested, even at Giabella’s age, in playing dolls like a child. But Verity put her hand on Giabella’s wrist, stopping her mid word. 

“I need to tell you something, Giabella,” she said, her expression deliberately serious and intent as she met the younger girl’s gaze. “Something important, something I’ve been keeping inside for a long time. But I need to know that I can trust you. I need to know that you’ll believe me, and that I can count on you as my very best friend, no matter what.”

For Giabella, so new to the concept of even having another child accept her, “best friend” was the magic phrase to garner her attention and cooperation. Verity, having discovered this, made sure to use those words as often as possible, trying to burn them deep into Giabella’s brain. If the girl believed in and cherished this supposed role, she knew that she could rewrite its definition to include any action she might want Giabella to engage in. 

Giabella, one doll held loosely in her hand, nodded eagerly, her dark eyes wide and excited as she scooted closer to Verity where they sat together on her bed, her knobby knee knocking against Verity’s leg. Verity resisted the urge she felt to push her back, remaining still as the girl gave her promise.

“You can tell me, Verity, you can trust me. I’m your best friend, you know that!”

“I know,” Verity nodded solemnly, even she inwardly cringed, disgusted, at the label she affirmed for the other child. “I know you are. But…I really, really need to know that you’ll believe what I tell you, and that you won’t tell anyone, Giabella. It’s very important. It’s…it’s sacred. Like a promise to God.”

“Wow,” Giabella breathed, leaning forward towards Verity, close enough that Verity could smell the sickly sweet scent of her watermelon lip gloss. “Wow…I promise, Verity, I do.”

Verity paused, eyeing the girl as though in assessment of her honesty, before giving a slow nod of feigned reluctance. She released a breath, as though she had been holding in anxiety, even as she fought a victorious smile.

“I need to tell you…you know, don’t you, that we’re different, Giabella. You and I, we’re not like the other kids around us. That’s why we’re friends. We understand each other, don’t we?”

“Yeah, of course,” Giabella said earnestly, bobbing her head in agreement. “We’re best friends. I don’t even want to be friends with other kids, I don’t need any friend but you. You’re better than them anyway.”

“Well…there’s a reason that we’re different,” Verity continued, deliberately pitching her voice low, almost a whisper. There were two reasons for this- one, for added drama and urgency in the mood, and two, in case one of Giabella’s overprotective parents happened to be near enough to overhear. “There’s a reason the other kids won’t be our friends. They see it, Giabella, and they stay away, they try to tear us apart, to make us like them. But it won’t work. We’re set apart from all of that. We’re…there’s something special about us, Giabella. Something special about me.”

“What do you mean?” Giabella asked, her own voice dropping to a loud whisper in unconscious imitation of Verity’s. “What’s so special?”

Verity made a show of taking another deep breath before reaching to lay a hand on Giabella’s, scooting closer still. She waited until Giabella was nearly holding her breath in anticipation before responding.

“I’m…I’ve been chosen to be one of God’s prophets, Giabella. Like in the Bible. God, in his power and grace, has given me special abilities that others don’t have. Ones I can’t understand or explain. But I know that they come from God, and I know what he wants me to do.”

For a moment Giabella’s eyes remained wide with her astonishment. Verity could nearly see the gears turning in her tiny, inferior brain, attempting to process her claim. Then scorn and disbelief quickly overtook her features, and she gave Verity’s leg a shove, scoffing aloud.

“A prophet? That’s so crazy, Verity, that’s only old men in the Bible, like thousands of years ago! There aren’t any prophets now, you’re not a prophet! You’re just a kid!”

It took every ounce of will that Verity had within her to muster the self control she needed not to strike out at the ignorant, self-righteous twit in front of her, to show her exactly how much power she truly could wield when she chose. It was bad enough for the brat to sneer at her, but the comment about Verity just being a kid rubbed her nerves raw. 

“Just a kid” was exactly the impression that Verity wanted others to have of her, as that dismissive assumption allowed her the freedom to slip beneath notice. But hearing it spoken aloud in that tone by a kid who truly knew nothing….it rankled. 

Verity was no kid, no ignorant, boastful child. She vowed then that she would show Giabella Higgins exactly what she was and what she was capable of, and when that day came, the girl would deeply regret the day she doubted her.

“You told me that you would believe me,” she said through gritted teeth, working hard to pitch her voice into a tone holding sorrow rather than rage. “You promised, Giabella, and now you’ve gone back on your word. I guess you’re not my best friend after all. I guess you need proof…maybe then you’ll believe.”

She turned, scanning the room for objects small and yet sturdy enough to break without overpowering noise, her eyes coming to rest on Giabella’s trophy shelf. Several of the trophies were made of copper, silver, or pewter, proclaiming her victory in various junior pageants. Ignoring Giabella’s question as to what she was doing, she removed several, laying them on the floor where Giabella could plainly see them. With quick, effortless gestures, she broke each trophy in half with a simple pull of her bare hands. 

Somewhat gratified to see the way Giabella’s jaw dropped and her eyes bugged out from their sockets, Verity turned, searching for further objects to prove her case. She took two thick books off the child’s bookcase, thinking to herself there was little chance a girl as slow as Giabella would ever read them anyway, and effortlessly tore them in half, horizontally rather than along the book’s spine. Letting the pages flutter to the floor, she then grasped the top of Giabella’s metal bed frame. With barely exerted pressure, she bent in each of the bars supporting the headboard, leaving it inches from collapsing in before turning back to Giabella, her expression arranged carefully into reproach. 

“Do you believe me now, Giabella?”

“Wow…oh my goodness, wow,” Giabella breathed, her voice tiny, one hand splaying over her chest as though to calm a racing heartbeat. “How…how did you do that?” Then, with a shade of delayed injury, “You broke my trophies!”

“I had to show you,” Verity told her, hiding her impatience behind intense tone. “You didn’t believe me, about the power God has given me, or the role he’s appointed me. He’s given me strength, Giabella, tremendous strength, because of my faith. Don’t you remember, it only takes the faith of a mustard seed for a mountain to move at one’s word? Do you doubt the word of God or its power, working through humans? Do you doubt that God can appoint prophets to his cause? Do you doubt the Bible’s testimony, Giabella?”

With each sentence Verity let her voice raise just slightly in volume and incredulity, so by the last question asked, her pretended shock at Giabella’s apparent lack of faith clearly splashed across her features and colored her words. Subtlety was necessary when convincing some, but Giabella was dim enough that sometimes overacting was needed to get a simple point across. 

Her eyes flashing alarm at the questions thrown her way, Giabella shook her head hurriedly, face lit with her earnest denials. 

“No, Verity, no! No, I would never!”

“Then you must believe me,” Verity stated, holding the other child’s stricken eyes with her own. “You saw the works God is doing through me, Giabella. You know my faith. You know me, and this means now…you know me as God’s word, living out in human form. You know that God is at work in me, and I am his voice and his hands.”

After a hesitation, Giabella’s head dipped into a slow nod. Biting her lower lip, she whispered, “But…you’re just a kid like me. I thought prophets had to be grown ups.”

Verity took a few moments to resist her urge to roll her eyes or sigh aloud at the girl’s ignorance. 

“Josiah was only eight years old when God appointed him as king. Jesus himself first spoke as a religious leader at age 12, and Mary, mother of Jesus, was only thirteen when she God chose her as the mother of his son. That’s my age, Giabella. I’m old enough to be called for God’s purpose, and so are you.”

“What…what does it mean?” Giabella asked. She had set the doll in her hands down, nervously clasping and unclasping entwined fingers in her lap as she stared, rapt, at the other child. “What does God want?”

“He tells me things,” Verity said with practiced thoughtfulness, pausing often, as though to consider whether Giabella was quite ready to hear the answers to what she had asked. “He speaks to me, and sometimes he gives me visions, showing me what will happen or what I need to do. He’s given me my new and amazing strength, and he tells me that I will need it, when I carry out his word.”

“Wow,” Giabella murmured again, rocking slightly and without seeming to realize it on the bed’s edge. Verity suppressed a snicker as she secretly waiting, hoping the girl would scoot close enough that she would fall off. “Wow…what has God been telling you, Verity? What does he want?”

There it was, the perfect opening. Verity didn’t waste the opportunity, but she did drag out the time between Giabella’s question and her response, intending to heighten her suspense to the maximum.

“He wants…he told me it’s my job to identify the people he’s selected as his. To go to them and tell them his plan for them, to share his will for their lives. It’s only some people, only special people, the people with the very most faith that he wants me to go to. People like me, Giabella. People….people like you.”

When Giabella drew in a sharp breath, her already huge eyes expanding somehow wider still, Verity leaned in, taking the girl’s hands into hers and squeezing with just enough pressure for her to register the strength they carried.

“He’s chosen you, Giabella. You, out of everyone else in church, out of all the other girls we know. He told me that you’re the one he will use. And he told me that the time for you has come right now.” 

Verity’s careful observations of the younger girl and her personality had led her to guess that Giabella would be flattered, proud, yet also frightened by her bold assertion. She could tell from the way Giabella’s hands went cold in her grasp and the sudden quickness of her breathing that her hypothesis had been accurate.

“But…me? He wants…he picked me?” she whispered, cheeks paling. “Why me?”

“It isn’t for me to question God, Giabella,” Verity reproved her in a severe tone, shaking her head. “God’s ways are not for us to understand, only to know and carry out as he asks of us. I tell you, he chose you. You either accept his will or reject it, but you offend God when you question it.”

“I’m not, I’m not,” Giabella protested weakly, making an effort to pull her hands from Verity’s. Verity tightened her grip on her, not allowing her to escape. Physical touch was one of the best ways to read a person, and she wasn’t giving up any advantages she had. “I’m not, I just…are you sure, Verity?”

Now Verity did snatch her hands from her, knotting them into fists at her side. She pulled herself to her full, if unimpressive height, narrowing her eyes, tensing her muscles, and mustering as much intimidation and anger into her expression, tone, and body language as she could convey without actually crossing the line into yelling, cursing, or physical aggression. Because Giabella was more or less her own height and build, despite being younger, it was difficult to appear as threatening as she might have on a smaller girl, but Verity did what she could with what she had.

“Are you telling lies before God’s servant, Giabella Higgins? You said you do not doubt God, but I heard it with my own ears- asking God’s prophet if she is sure of God’s word!”

“No!” Giabella gasped, taking an instinctive step back from Verity, her shoulders hunching in, arms coming up as though in preparation of being struck. “No, Verity, I didn’t! I mean, I didn’t mean-“

“I’m asking you one more time, Giabella, so think very carefully before you speak. Do you doubt the word of God?”

“N-no…no,” Giabella nearly whimpered, shaking her head. Verity saw the shimmer of tears standing in her eyes, heard her sniffle, and had to suppress a beam of triumph, forcing herself to maintain her stern countenance. “No, Verity…”

“Do you doubt my word, the word of God’s prophet- and your own best friend?” 

Verity suspected that it was the latter title rather than the former that held the most weight with Giabella, adding it into her question as an afterthought. She waited, her steady heartbeat an enjoyable counter to Giabella’s miserable, cornered posture as the girl again shook her head, one tear escaping and trickling down her sallow cheek.

“No…no, Verity, really. I just…I just don’t know…what does he want me to do? What does it mean?”

“Do you believe that you understand and can recognize sin, when it presents itself to you?” Verity pressed, ignoring the girl’s questions. 

Of course, no self-respecting Catholic would deny that, and as expected, Giabella further sank herself into the set-up of Verity’s verbal trap for her.

“Yes, yes, of course,” Giabella said with more confidence, nodding, sniffling back the rest of her tears. She gave Verity an uncertain, tremulous smile that Verity did not return- not just yet.

“Do you feel you are able to recognize sinners, truly terrible sinners, those beyond the reach of God’s grace, those that must instead receive his judgement?”

Giabella frowned, appearing confused by the question, perhaps not understanding its phrasing.

“We’re all sinners,” she said finally, falling back on the standard Catholic teachings she knew of, though she spoke the words more like a question than a statement. 

Verity resisted yet another urge to roll her eyes. It was clear that this girl was incapable of original thought, much like the majority of people she had encountered.

“You have been chosen by God,” she repeated, reverting to simple statements, for the child she viewed as simple-minded. “It is your job now to carry out his judgment on those who are the worst of sinners. Tell me, who are those you feel beyond the reach of God’s grace, already fallen by their actions into judgment for their evil deeds?”

Giabella stared at her blankly, clearly not comprehending, until Verity broke it down further for her.

“What are the worst sins, and who are the people who do them?”

“Um…abortions,” Giabella said more readily, much more at ease, with ready-made answers already spoon fed to her from her early years. “Gay stuff. Um, prostitutes and drug users. Killers…”

Verity cut her off before she could go further into talking about murderers. After all, out of what Giabella had said, it was the one label that could apply to herself, and she intended to steer Giabella away from her conditioning of judging that particular action.

“So then, as God’s chosen, it is your judgment that those who’ve had abortions, homosexuals, prostitutes, and drug addicts are those that you are responsible in dealing justice upon. Would you recognize those people, if you saw them?”

“Um…I think so,” Giabella said slowly, although she didn’t nod. “Like, it’s those people on the streets I’m not allowed to ride my bike on. I could probably tell.”

“You can, and you will,” Verity told her with authority, giving her words added weight with her decisive nod. “God has chosen you, Giabella. And this is what he wants you to do.”

She stepped close to the girl, taking a moment to smooth back her hair behind her ear, and then leaned in, whispering. When she drew back, Giabella’s face was paler than ever, and she swallowed several times, her pupils dilated with fear.

“It is God’s word, Giabella,” Verity repeated a final time. “You will do it, or you will face his wrath and judgment yourself. Are you willing to be God’s hands?”

When Giabella nodded, even as a tear escaped both eyes, Verity let herself finally smile.


	9. Chapter 9

After their time together at the beach, something had shifted in the way Faith and Buffy interacted, their way of relating and communicating with each other. Faith could feel the change almost physically. Where there had once been an awkward push-pull engagement between them, uncertainty and insecurity keeping them at a distance as much or more than it brought them near, the balance seemed to have shifted subtly more towards the side of pull, drawing them close without quite realizing or intending it at times. It felt more natural and easy, now, to talk with Buffy as much as to tease her, to be honest as much as to deflect, and to touch her in small ways without stepping back to judge her response. Whether it was due to the relaxing influence of sun and surf, their own looser, more playful behavior together, or simply a matter of having needed time, Faith began for the first time to feel more confident that her decision to come to Buffy had not been a mistake bred from her own selfish or silly desires or hopes. Maybe it had been Slayer instinct all along, drawing her towards choices that had needed to be made.

The evening passed more quickly than she would have thought possible, no one moment standing out as extraordinary when looked at individually, as Faith stood with Buffy in the airport, waiting for their flight, she found herself combing over the day with something like delayed unbelief. Had she really battled Buffy with ocean waves and splashes, instead of fists and feet and cutting words? Had she really walked the length of a beach as the sun set overhead, close enough that their bodies touched more often than not, without jumping apart or apologizing for and unwanted invasion of personal space? Had they really eaten dinner together in a restaurant, just the two of them, without struggling for what to say, and then packed a bag for the flight in Buffy’s apartment while arguing over music and movie preferences, without real heat behind the words? 

Most of all, Faith could not seem to trust her memory of Buffy’s hand over hers, of how her slim fingers had opened against hers in invitation to entwine. It was not the first time they had ever held hands, but it was the only time she could recall that had not been bred of a need to defend against attack or in effort to overtake the other by force, or even in effort of wordless comfort. It was the only time Buffy had reached for her hand simply for the seeming enjoyment of physical contact. 

As Faith stood with her, letting her mind wander with expectation that Buffy would understand and follow any airport protocol more easily than she would- after all, it was Buffy who had informed her that packing stakes and other weaponry in a carry-on bag would not go down well by security, and who had called and checked with Giles that Faith’s forged ID would pass inspection, even though it clearly had the first flight around- she tried to think if she could remember a time that Buffy had casually held hands with Willow or Xander, or even Dawn. In her anger-and-jealousy-tinted memories of their youthful Sunnydale days, it had seemed to her that all the Scoobies seemed to do was hug and smile and skip happily through meadows arm in arm. But she could remember very little physical contact between anyone not going groiny together, after her prison break. And as she tried to pinpoint specific memories of Buffy being casually physical with anyone in their teen years, her mind kept drawing a blank.

So…what did that mean, exactly, if Buffy did that now, with her?

They passed the security process, although the entire procedure made Faith bristle, as it had when she took her first flight alone to Buffy, just the day before. As she had been then, she was primed to fight, if need be. It had been Buffy, murmuring near her ear, who told her to smile, to make direct eye contact with the workers, and to open up her body language as she went through the metal detectors and other security measures.

“No one is going to look at you twice if you don’t act like you’re someone they should be looking at, you know,” she told her wryly. “How did you manage to get through the first time without someone calling you out, if you looked at everyone like they were challenging you to a throw down?”

Because the first time, Faith had had a mission too important to let herself even pay attention to the possibility of failing before she had the chance to try to pull it off. She was on her way to Buffy, and she would have been damned if she got arrested before Buffy even knew it. She had a mission now, obviously, when it came to finding and catching the serial Slayer, but with the main hurdle of recruiting Buffy over with, she found her mind far less focused than before. 

Faith had spent the time waiting in the airport researching the Fayetteville murders, reading online papers and Fayetteville forums and Facebook page comments to get a better sense of the facts and local theories of the deaths. Most of them were homeless or prostitutes, ranging in age and gender, and estimated to have died in late evening or early morning, before sunrise. Nearly all of them had some sort of criminal record but were found to have no defensive wounds, likely because the force of their injuries left them unable to breathe, let alone stand and fight. Most were determined to have alcohol or illegal substances in their system at the time of death, and it was supposed online that this may have affected the victim’s ability to react or fight back against their attacker. 

Faith had scrolled impatiently past the comments from the trolls and right wings, many indicating that the murder of these “bums” or “shiftless criminals” was deserved and worth praise rather than punishment. Somewhere, there could be a comment that would give her and Buffy a better idea of the girl they suspected to be targeting these vulnerable “undesirables,” or at least an idea of the population that might be at risk in the future. She noted the profile pictures of any nasty comments that were made by a young girl of possible Slayer age, clicking on their profiles and noting the names and hometowns of each. By the time she put the phone up and made her way with Buffy onto the plane, she felt slightly more confident as to what she and Buffy were about to encounter.

Clearly, whoever was killing these people was choosing people with few connections or allies, people that others would not miss and whose death would have little effect or consequence on the town. There were now six people reported dead in this manner, and only the sheer number of deaths and the unusual method of murder made this news rather than just a busy week in the morgue.

She was choosing people that were considered expendable. Clearly, the girl was smart enough to understand and plan this, by her chosen victims, the time of day she struck, when she was least likely to be observed, and by her chosen method of minimal punches, minimal evidence of her presence left behind. Her murder weapon was her fists, her Slayer strength put in action. 

She was damn clever, this serial killing slayer. As disturbing as this was to Faith, as sickened as she felt at the memories it triggered of the reasonings of her younger, more damaged self, she had to respect the kid’s obvious smarts. 

The motive for the killings was a bit fuzzy, without knowing the identity of the killer herself. It could be some religious mania quest, ala crazed ex-preacher Caleb, attacking people that she considered sinners. It could be that she was traumatized or homeless herself, like the slayer Dana, defending what she saw as her safety or her personal space without control or regard for what her new powers could do. It could be accidents, although that seemed pretty damn unlikely. 

But Faith’s gut feeling was that this girl’s actions were not about defense or fear, or even a sense of misguided justice seeking. This girl, she was pretty sure, killed people for the power it gave her. This girl committed murder because she knew that she could.

She didn’t share her theories with Buffy, although she had showed the other woman the articles she had read. Buffy had not said much in response, simply nodding acknowledgement as she took in the information. 

“Well, guess vacation’s over for me,” she commented, exhaling, but there was no dread or resentment in her expression. In fact, Faith was pretty sure she was trying not to smile. “Here we go again. Time to save the world.”

Again? Faith was pretty sure this wasn’t an apocalypse type situation, yet , anyway. But she had nodded agreement, bumping her shoulder against Buffy’s as they settled into their seats on the plane and shut off their phones. 

“Here we go,” she repeated, deeper meaning and emphasis in the words as she too breathed out. “Time to get this shit right.”

88

For someone who had claimed no problem staying awake over 24 hours, Buffy took very little time during their flight to doze off. Faith was amused at first, thinking of the enjoyment she would get from teasing her about her lightweight status, but when Buffy’s head started to loll over towards one side, giving her an uncomfortable-looking position, she was struck with the urge to “fix” her. After all, she reasoned to herself, if Buffy woke up with a neck-ache, it might interfere with their duties later. And it could make her more irritable, which also wouldn’t be helpful.

It wasn’t totally because of concern for Buffy’s comfort that she had to reach over and gently straighten her head into a more natural position. At least, that was what she half-heartedly attempted to tell herself. 

The problem was that once Faith had straightened Buffy’s head, she over-corrected herself, slowly drooping to the opposite side from before, towards Faith rather than towards the window. When her head made contact with Faith’s shoulder, the rest of Buffy’s body relaxed, curling into her as though automatically, at least as much as was possible in cramped airline seating. 

There was no doubt that Buffy found her new positon comfortable, especially when she murmured a sigh of content in her sleep. Faith, on the other hand, kept her body perfectly still, heartbeat quick and slightly out of its usual rhythm. She was aware to an exaggerated degree of Buffy’s weight against her side, the surprising heaviness of her head against the curve where her neck joined her shoulder. She could smell Buffy’s hair against her cheek and knew that exactly how soft and smooth it would feel to her fingers’ touch. 

She didn’t dare move, both out of concern that Buffy would waken, and out of anxiety that she might not. What exactly was she supposed to do if Buffy slept through the entirety of their flight? How the hell would her heart ever resume a normal beat? 

Repeatedly Faith’s thoughts focused on her own hand, her arm, the desire to wrap them around Buffy and pull her closer still urgent and intense in her mind. But she couldn’t do it, not without Buffy awake to give some kind of signal or consent. What the hell would the woman think if she woke up to find herself all wrapped up in Faith’s arms like some kind of cheesy lesbian pseudo-porn intro?

So she kept herself still with great effort for the thirty minutes or so of Buffy’s catnap, but her mind was far from quiet. When Buffy finally blinked her eyes, shifting into a partially sitting position as she came partly awake, Faith was quick to explain, not wanting her to come up with any inaccurate conclusions.

“You kinda fell over on me. I figured, whatever, stay, if that’s what you’re unconscious self is after.”

A slight crinkle appeared between Buffy’s eyebrows as she attempted to process what Faith was telling her. As she became more aware of her present and her current half-leaned positioning, she sat up quickly, putting some distance between them with an awkward laugh.

“Oh. Sorry. Like you don’t already have a lack of personal space in coach without me stealing more of it, right?”

“Ah, I’m a generous girl,” Faith said lightly, shrugging one shoulder. “You know me, all about the sharing.”

“Funny,” Buffy bantered back, her smile easier now as she registered that Faith was not going to give her a hard time. “I remember once you were more about the taking.”

“Hey, time and place for everything,” Faith responded. “Besides, flip the coin, and taking and sharing might look like the very same thing. You share your belongings with people that take them, right?”

As they eased into talk that meant little and voiced less, Faith was aware of how strange she felt with Buffy now pulled away from her, as though she were somehow missing her, even homesick for her. It was ridiculous, sickening, even, because the woman wasn’t gone, she was obviously right there, inches away from her. Nor was Buffy ignoring her; they were looking more or less into each other’s eyes, talking and interacting. Yet somehow it felt as though they were stepping apart, and she couldn’t help feeling that she had somehow missed a signal Buffy had given, an opportunity that Faith could have seized. 

Damn it, she was a grown woman now, leading a life closer to what was right for her than she ever would have thought possible. The fact that Buffy was even here right now, that they had just had the sort of day together that was still vivid on her muscle memories, should be more than enough to make her content. Even six months back, a day at the beach with Buffy Summers, complete with laughs and affectionate and totally void of violence, would have been fantasy or dream rather than reality. 

So why the hell did she feel like there could be more, that she wanted more? Why did she always have to feel things that hurt more than helped? 

88

Faith didn’t notice when the Buffy-initiated conversation on the plane trickled off, still focused on her own irritation with herself. For someone who had never thought of herself as a thinker or planner, she could sure make herself crazy when her thoughts got “stuck” on something she couldn’t shake. Maybe that was what had made her the kind of person who tended to act first and think later, at least at one point in her life; it sometimes seemed easier to deal with the consequences of a decision later than to freeze in indecision, never making a decision at all. 

She didn’t notice that Buffy too had gone quiet until their flight had come to an end and they had left the airport, found their rental car, and put into Buffy’s phone the directions for Fayetteville from their current town. Even then, settling herself behind the wheel, she didn’t notice Buffy watching her until Buffy cleared her throat, finally drawing her attention. 

“What is this, Faith?”

“This is a car,” Faith said, straight-faced. “Allegedly. It’s a shit brand though, the last rental car was too. I don’t know if Giles is cheaping out or if they take one look at me and stick me in the worst they got, but if this was actually a bomb covered in metal and carpet, I wouldn’t be surprised.”

“No, Faith, come on,” Buffy persisted, rolling her eyes. “You know what I mean. What is this?”

She gestured between them, as though flapping her hands in a horizontal direction made her thoughts overtly obvious. To Faith, though, this was not the case.

“What do you mean? What we’re doing? It’s a mission,” she cocked her head, genuinely confused. “I told you back at your apartment. And you saw the papers this morning. Deaths, small town politics, killer kids-“

“Between us, Faith,” Buffy cut her off, her words soft, but her expression intent, even expectant, as she turned to fully face her. “Not the car, not the mission. I’m just wondering…what is going on between us. Now, yesterday, months ago…what…what is this?”

This was not a topic of discussion Faith had expected, or would have ever chosen to put so directly on the table between them. Her stomach churned in discomfort, her chest tight with her rising stress level, and she attempted but did not quite succeed in averting her eyes from Buffy’s unwavering gaze. 

It was clear Buffy wasn’t going to let her start the car up without answering her question. She could see her hand, literally half lifted off the knee closest to the steering wheel in preparation of stopping her if she tried. But how the hell was she supposed to answer something that she had been wondering all this time herself?

She opened her mouth to start with one of her go-to defenses, straight up denial, but Buffy cut her off, putting up one hand.

“Before you answer. Don’t bother to tell me you don’t know what I’m talking about or I’m mistaken, because you more than anyone else I know can see innuendo and sexual tension if even the tiniest little bit is there to see. It’s here. Well, maybe not innuendo and sexual tension, exactly, but something like that, or if not like that, well…something. It’s something, Faith. And I don’t know, maybe you’re okay with never talking about it, or pretending not to know about it, and I guess maybe I used to be. But now, I don’t think I am anymore. God knows why, denial and pretending used to be one of my top favorite ways of coping. But that feels fake now, fake and just…stupid. Maybe I’m just tired now, or maybe I’m getting old. Maybe my cookie dough is getting too impatient to be cookies, already, or maybe they are cookies, but just not the kind of cookies I thought they’d turn out to be when they were just dough-“

“Okay, what?!” Faith interrupted, unable to even attempt to follow along by that point. “Where the hell did we get off into talking cookies, and what the hell is your dough supposed to be a metaphor? Because if this is some roundabout way of asking me if I want to eat you-“

“No, no!” Buffy shook her head hurriedly, cheeks burning. “No, that’s, um, well drop the cookie metaphor, it was never a good one anyway. I think I was hungry that day. And I’m not sure why I thought Angel out of everyone would be the one to connect with a metaphor about food.”

Seeing Faith’s tilted head and furrowed brow, Buffy cleared her throat.

“But anyway…what I’m trying to say is, I don’t want to pretend things anymore, or ignore things, or…okay, I know you’re not big into talking about feelings. I’m not really, either. Or I wasn’t. But we have gone through too much hell, all of us, to make more for ourselves just because we won’t talk about things that matter. I don’t want to have to guess things, or not know things, or pretend that I don’t. I’ve been in that place far too many times already to do it again on purpose. It’s nothing but confusion, and pain, bad decisions. That might have been the way all my relationships have always gone before, but now-“

“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” Faith burst out with, eyes widening. “Relationships? Are you saying-“

“Don’t have a heart attack,” Buffy sighed, briefly letting her eyes roll up towards the car’s ceiling. “That probably wasn’t the best word to use. Obviously, we are not in a relationship. At least not a sexual one, or a romantic one. I don’t know if you’ve ever had one before, a relationship, I mean…you never did present yourself like the settle-down kind of girl. But with me…this, whatever this is?” She gestured between herself and Faith, somewhere around the mid-chest area, as she spoke. “Whenever this sort of…thing…started happening between me and someone else before, we always ended up doing something about it. Sex, or dating, or both, or some very weird mix and match of the two. Order hasn’t been real routine so far. And I never talked about it before it went from being a thing to a…well, even more complicated thing. So…before it gets more complicated this time…I figured, maybe we’re both old enough now to try the talking thing before this thing crosses over into the thing-thing.”

“Buffy…I know you love speeches, it seems to be one of your biggest joys in life,” Faith said with some weariness, shaking her head. “But please, if you gotta keep doing them, read a book or two. You’ve said “thing” so many times in a row it’s starting to sound like gibberish.”

“I’m sorry…I really don’t know what I’m doing here, and this wasn’t exactly planned,” Buffy admitted, exhaling. She caught Faith’s eyes with hers, and Faith bit her lip, unable to shrug off the sincerity she saw in them. “I probably don’t make a lot of sense. But I think you still know what I’m trying to say. Because I know you feel it. I know you feel this.”

She placed a hand lightly on the inside of Faith’s wrist and kept it there, against her pulse point. Faith stayed still, swallowing, her eyes staying on Buffy’s as the woman continued to address her.

“I feel it when we touch, or when we don’t, but it feels like we are. I feel it in how fast your pulse got when I touched your wrist. God knows I get things wrong way more than I seem to get them right, but I know I’m not wrong now. You feel this. The way we’re drawn towards each other, almost like some force is pulling us that we can’t quite see, even when we’re trying to stay apart. The way it feels different now, comfortable, to be near you, even when we don’t talk and feel embarrassed or stupid about it. The way we seem to just…fit near each other, or together with each other, like we never could before. Like all the jagged parts that jammed up against each other and rubbed each other raw suddenly clicked into place. It’s…it feels right, even if I don’t understand it. Just being near you, it’s right.”

She was saying everything that Faith had been feeling without quite having words for it, everything that she had been alternating between attempting to reason through and attempting to push away. For someone that Faith had just made fun of for her lack of eloquence, she was starting to verbalize things much more precisely than Faith could have put words to. 

She did know what Buffy was saying. It was exactly what she had been feeling since their conversations in the motel, just after Sunnydale’s destruction. It was what she had experienced, on and off, though more often off, since the moment she met her, and more intensely and frequently since Buffy first handed her the Slayer’s scythe. She didn’t understand it, and most of the time, she thought she’d be better off forgetting or denying it. But it was there. It was there for her, and now she knew that it was there for Buffy too.

“So…I guess what I’m saying is maybe we don’t know what this is,” Buffy concluded quietly, letting her eyes shift away. “Maybe we never will, maybe we don’t need to know. But we can decide what to do about it. We can decide what we want it to be, Faith. So…I guess that’s what I’m asking. What do you want this to be?”

That question was loaded with more than Faith could even begin to work out an answer to. Buffy seemed to assume that what she wanted and what she chose to do were one and the same, but Faith’s experience over the past couple of years had taught her that more often than not, what she wanted was exactly the opposite of what was right. 

Slowly, regretfully, she eased her hand away from Buffy’s, balling it into a fist against her thigh. Her chest strained with her warring feelings and thoughts as she cleared her throat, struggling for some sort of regaining of control.

“Buffy…this is really the conversation you want to have, right here, right now? This is what you think we should focus on, not looking for the killer kid?”

Buffy’s eyes drifted to Faith’s retrieved hand, her own slowly moving back to her own leg and flattening out against her thigh. 

“Okay, maybe this isn’t the best timing in the world, but that’s pretty much how our lives have always gone, nothing has great timing. I get that our main focus is and will be protecting people and saving lives, and I’m not trying to change that. This is still a valid and needed conversation, timing or not.”

She swallowed visibly, pulling her eyes back to Faith’s and lifting her chin.

“But if this isn’t about denial, or timing, and it’s more about you not knowing how to say that you don’t want this- or if you just don’t want to disappoint me-“

“Buffy, god,” Faith interrupted her, hearing and hating the intense emotion in her tone, knowing Buffy likely saw it echoed in her inability to control her expression. “I don’t know, okay, I don’t know what you’re trying to get me to say, or what you want me to do-“

“I don’t want you to do or say anything but the truth,” Buffy spoke over her, leaning forward slightly. “I’m not trying to make you do anything but acknowledge reality, and tell me what you want to do with it.”

“Buffy, I’ve been trying really damn hard not to even see the question of what’s going on when it comes to me and you, let alone answer it,” Faith said, her voice cracking. She dug her nails into her the material of her pants, pressing down hard enough to bruise the skin beneath as she fought for a calmer tone. “I just…I don’t know what to say, okay, I don’t know what to do. I don’t know anything right now. I’m sorry, but that’s all I can give you.”

She fixed her eyes on the dashboard, but it didn’t prevent her from seeing Buffy’s serious expression out the corner of her eyes. It didn’t stop her from hearing the slow, sighing breath the woman let out. And it didn’t stop Buffy from speaking again.

“You do know what you want, Faith. I think you always have.”

“Buffy, it doesn’t matter, what I want doesn’t fucking matter, okay? Just stop,” Faith told her hoarsely, closing her eyes. She was certain that if Buffy touched her then, she would break, either into a flurry of fists against the car’s window or into a flood of unwanted tears. “Please, stop. I’m not doing this, not with you. Please…stop.”

Silence fell between them, broken only by the harsh thudding of Faith’s heart and her barely controlled breaths. When she felt the faint touch of Buffy’s fingers, briefly smoothing her hair, she didn’t dare open her eyes, afraid of what Buffy might see in them in that moment.

“I don’t want to hurt you, Faith,” Buffy almost whispered. 

She said it as if she knew this to be Faith’s biggest fear, the main cause of her anxiety. She said it as though Faith feared rejection or pain from Buffy, more than she feared the potential Faith herself had for causing Buffy further pain. 

“This isn’t our focus,” Faith said quietly, slowly sitting up. She started the car’s ignition with only slightly shaking hands, focusing her eyes straight ahead. “This isn’t what we’re supposed to be doing.”

As she pulled out of the parking space, she heard Buffy’s answer, soft enough she wasn’t sure it was meant for her to hear. “Okay, Faith…if that’s what you want right now. If that’s what you need.”

And there she was again, assuming that what Faith wanted and needed were one and the same, and no different from what Faith thought was right. How the hell could Buffy ask her for an answer, when it changed depending on the exact details of the question?


	10. Chapter 10

Mapquest had informed Faith that the distance from the airport to the hotel she and Buffy had decided to stay in for the evening was only about a ten minute drive, but after their conversation/confrontation, those ten minutes seemed uncomfortably quiet and unbearably long. Faith didn’t allow her gaze to waver from the road, and she had to force herself to flex and relax her hands a few times on the steering wheel. She had noticed that the material around it had started to strain, threatening to tear if she tightened her grip any harder. 

She tried to thrust everything that Buffy had said to her, asked of her, out of her mind and deep down in some hole of her memory beyond her access. She tried to cover the all too vivid images she still carried of the serious intensity of Buffy’s eyes, the body memory of her touch, with thoughts of the mission she had set out to do, the mission she had already reminded Buffy they were setting out on. But it was useless. What was death, crime, or even slaying, compared to the overwhelming flood of emotions Buffy could give her with just a certain look or tone of voice? 

And she knew. Buffy knew, to some extent, the power she wielded over Faith, the struggle Faith had to reign in and suppress the confusing mix of physical and emotional feelings that she gave Faith. The sense of admiration and respect, yes, but moreover, the blending of affection and resentment, anger and pride, hurt and excitement, hunger and approval-seeking, attraction and even love that had been present so powerfully, so confusingly, for so long, the tumble of confliction that Faith could never fully settle. Buffy could see it, some of it, anyway. She had said it herself, in so many words. How fucking embarrassing. How big of a fool had Faith made over herself, throughout the years, or even in the past hour? If Buffy knew, who else did? Were they all laughing at her behind her back, or worse, pitying her? 

What the hell was she supposed to do now? How was she supposed to talk to Buffy, work with Buffy, or even look her in the eye? And if Buffy knew…what did that mean? What was Buffy going to do, other than thrust her knowledge in Faith’s face?

Then again, that was what Buffy had been asking, wasn’t it? What was going on between them, with what Faith felt, what Faith wanted? 

But what Buffy hadn’t said- the necessary information that she hadn’t volunteered, and that Faith had been too thrown off guard to ask- had been what she herself, what Buffy Summers, wanted, how Buffy Summers felt about the “thing” between them. It seemed a little too late to ask now, not to mention it would make it way too obvious that Faith had been unable to switch her mind to any other gears of thought. But that answer was pretty damn important. Didn’t what Buffy want matter as much as what Faith wanted, if not a hell of a lot more? 

When Faith pulled into the parking lot of the hotel, she was still locked into her own inner arguments. She didn’t hear Buffy call her name, so when the other woman touched her shoulder to attract her attention, she twitched sharply, her head swiveling. 

“Sorry,” Buffy removed her hand quickly, holding up both as though to prove she intended no harm. “I said your name, you didn’t hear, I guess.”

“Yeah, no, it’s five- I mean, it’s fine,” Faith corrected herself, licking her lips and forcing a slightly rough smile. “What did you say?”

“I was asking if you wanted to get single rooms for the night,” Buffy said, the words quiet. “Or if you wanted to get one together.” She added quickly, “With two beds, if they have them. Or whatever. I mean, I heard what you said, but it doesn’t have to be…I thought I’d ask. About the rooms.”

Faith studied her, but she could not quite read the blonde’s expression. Buffy seemed to be working to keep herself looking neutral and casual, as much as Faith herself was. So what did that mean- that Faith’s answer mattered because she wanted separate rooms, or because she didn’t? Or did her answer truly not matter to Buffy? And if that was the case, what did THAT mean, and why had she been going on for so long to ask a non-mattering question?

Fuck, she was giving herself a migraine. 

“What were you thinking, B?” she deflected, shrugging. “Were you wanting your own room, or were you wanting to share?”

Buffy’s mouth curved slightly, but only on one side. If it was an attempt at a smile, it didn’t quite hit the mark. She regarded Faith steadily, waiting until Faith couldn’t help but look back at her, directly into her eyes. Only then did she answer.

“Faith, I’m pretty used to being alone,” she said evenly. “I’ve been alone for a long time. That’s the way of Slayers, I guess. People leave, people die, relationships fail, that’s how it goes. Don’t get me wrong, I have people I love, and I know they love me. It matters, but it isn’t how it feels, in the end. The Slayer is alone, always, even in a room of people surrounding her. I’ve learned to accept it as a Slayer’s calling, as her fate. But I don’t think it has to be, Faith. Because the only time in my life that I don’t feel alone is when I’m with you.”

Faith’s heart stuttered. Mouth going dry, she stared back at Buffy, confused, tense, irrationally angry…and vulnerable. To have Buffy say something like this to her made her feel so damn open to being hurt. Hadn’t Buffy proven, in all senses of the word, that she knew just how deep to cut Faith, with so little extended effort?

How was it that Buffy saying something so flattering, so soft and personal and intimate, could somehow still hurt? And how could Buffy not know that, no matter what she said about not wanting to hurt Faith, this was one of the fastest ways to do it?

“Buffy,” she managed, the word somewhat strangled in her mouth. She didn’t know what else to say, wasn’t even sure if the word was a warning or a plea. Buffy must have seen this, for she began speaking again in a gentler tone.

“I want what you want, Faith. I mean that, both ways. I want to do what you want us to do. If you want me to give you your space, I want to give it to you. But…I think you want more. I think you want us to be more, and I want you to know…” she took a breath, released it, and continued to meet Faith’s eyes squarely. “I want it too.”

“Buffy,” Faith said again, slightly louder this time, but Buffy cut her off, seeming to focused on making her point to quite hear.

“I think you’re scared, and I get it, I really do. We’ve…you’ve been through a lot, and it feels easier to edge away from people. Believe me, I know. And us…well, we’ve got a pretty screwy history between us. No, I’m gonna say it, our us-history is pretty fucked up. And our not-us history. Like, our history separately, and our history together, it’s all very, very fucked up, and we’re trying not to fuck up more and, and fuck other people up more too-“

“Whoa,” Faith interrupted, her eyebrows lifting nearly to her hairline in genuine incredulity. “I don’t think I’ve ever heard anyone say “fuck” so many times in less than 45 seconds, and I spent three years in prison. Definitely I didn’t think you would be the one to break that record.”

Buffy’s smile was somewhat sheepish as she shrugged. “I’ll blame it on your influence. No, actually, I won’t, I own it. Surpassing expectations is kind of my thing, right?”

“Sure, B, you keep that Curse Queen Crown, all yours.”

Faith’s lips twitched in spite of herself as her muscles relaxed just a tad. She had almost managed to steer Buffy off track in her determined monologue, and maybe, just maybe, she might manage to guide them back into something far more comfortable and familiar for her. Something she could do by instinct, rather than feeling as though she were falling blind into somewhere with an unknown distance to the ground.

But Buffy regrouped herself. 

“The point is,” she summarized after a moment, “if you are comfortable sharing a room, Faith, then I would be too. In fact, I’d like to do it. Share a room, I mean, not it…ugh, this conversation went better in my head,” she shook her head, muttering to herself more than to Faith. “I’m not trying to make you uncomfortable, or push you, or…anything. I know you said…I heard you. Earlier. I just…I’m tired of being careful, Faith. I’m tired of protecting myself.”

She paused, her eyes slipping downward briefly. When they met Faith’s again, Faith’s throat constricted from the feeling she saw directed from Buffy’s hazel gaze…feelings directed at her.

“I’m tired of being alone. It’s not about using you to stop myself from being lonely. It’s not about using you at all. It’s about…connecting. I want…I want to connect with you. If you want it.”

Faith had heard a lot of speeches from Buffy over the years, each of them equally long, somewhat twisty in getting to her point, and most of them full of self-righteousness, confidence, or commands. But this was different. This was softer, more open, and asking for feedback rather than giving opinions or instructions. Although Buffy was certain of her own feelings and desires, she was not putting them forth as facts or rules for Faith to follow. She was letting Faith make a choice. She was putting out her feelings to Faith, making herself an open target for any sort of retaliating response, and allowing Faith the decision of whether Faith too would open herself enough to do the same.

And Faith was tempted. It would feel so good to let go of everything she held onto, to simply reach out for Buffy and pull her in. What a relief, to give in to everything she had fought against for so long, to let one person in all the world inside. To let Buffy be that person, as she could have never hoped or dared to dream. 

She opened her mouth, the words of acceptance on the tip of her tongue. But they were not the ones that emerged.

“Buffy….I…yeah. Um, yeah, we can share a room. Whatever. Whatever you want. One bed, two beds, it’s a place to sleep.” 

Anger at herself flooded her chest, sharp, irritated, and indignant even as the casual, careless tone of her own words settled between them. What the hell was she doing, blowing Buffy off, acting like she didn’t hear or comprehend the full weight behind what the other woman had just said to her? What was she doing, pushing her away, when all she had ever wanted was for Buffy to finally decide that she wanted, that Faith was good enough, to be let in?

She wanted to take it back, to rewind the moment in time and answer in a different way, in the right way. But it was too late, and any words she tried to come up with to apologize or revise her response only seemed more insulting. 

Faith averted her eyes quickly, but not quickly enough to miss the disappointment standing brightly in Buffy’s eyes, briefly weighing her features. She sensed rather than witnessed her nod, her effort at a smile.

“Okay. Great, Faith. I guess we’ll room together. Um, and I guess for the beds, we’ll just…we’ll go with two.”

She shifted in the passenger’s seat, clearing her throat, and her voice was far too bright when she spoke again.

“Well, I guess we better check in and get started on things, then.”

As Faith nodded, not trusting herself to answer aloud, they both exited the rental car and crossed behind it to retrieve their bags from the trunk. They were careful not to touch, and the resumed silence between them felt so thick Faith felt it was possible to suffocate in. It didn’t occur to her to wonder until they were entering the hotel’s doors if Buffy’s confession was the true reason that Buffy had wanted to come back with her, the true reason she was helping her now. And if it was…how would Faith’s refusal change things now?

88

“Are you sure? I mean…can we…it’s so late…”

Verity resisted her urge to roll her eyes, as she had for the past several hours she had spent in Giabella’s company. It wouldn’t do, after all, for a prophet of the Lord to show impatience or sarcasm. Instead, she gave the younger child a soft smile, nodding her head. Again.

“You know the word of God, Giabella. He’s spoken to me, and as his body, we must listen. We must obey.”

“But it’s cold out,” Giabella whined, hugging her arms over her torso and giving a shiver that Verity knew to be more drama than genuine. “And what if your parents wake up and realize we left? We’ll be in trouble, Verity, and then I won’t be able to come over anymore. They’ll tell my parents, and they’ll be mad-“

“Giabella, the path is not always easy for God’s people,” Verity cut her off, before the little girl could get too into her own anxiety-driven suppositions. “If we are punished, then we will accept it, as the martyrs accepted their unjust punishments. We are doing God’s will, and sometimes that means going against what others have said. Have faith, and God will provide. Now come on. Stay close.”

She began to stride with sure, steady steps, sidling away from the side of her house and into the back area of the row of houses of the block. Giabella hurried after her, almost colliding into her elbow as she whispered loudly, grasping for Verity’s wrist to keep her near.

“But Verity, it’s dark out! How will we even see where to go? What if we get lost?”

“I know where to go,” Verity said, a hint of impatience creeping unbidden into her voice. “The light of God will lead us.”

The truth, of course, was that she didn’t dare carry flashlights to draw attention to two young girls, out on foot well past midnight in a neighborhood where this was not the norm. She had made Giabella change into a black sweater and pants, as Verity herself was wearing, for the same reason. It was important that they blend in. If Giabella was not already naturally brunette, like Verity herself, she would have made her wear a hat as well. 

It was never difficulty for Verity to sneak out at night, normally. Her mother never checked on her in the night, perhaps because she trusted her enough to see no reason to, perhaps because she didn’t want to know otherwise. It could also have to do with the fact that she normally had a few glasses of wine, mixed with sleeping pills, about two hours before Verity was ready to make her departure.

Tonight, Giabella’s debute, was not so easy. Getting her to stay the night wasn’t the hard part. Convincing her of the need to leave the house in the middle of the night, keeping her awake and quiet long enough to get to the correct time to do so, and then half shoving her out the window and onto the side lawn was somewhat more tricky. But now was coming the real test of the evening, and it remained to be seen if Verity would be successful in her hoped for outcome.

She walked quickly, occasionally shushing the other girl with fingers to her lips or murmured warnings. Giabella clung to her with thin spidery fingers, tripping and gasping with her anxiety. Verity lead her several blocks from her home, sticking to the backsides of the roads, away from traffic and streetlights. She knew she was in the right direction when she reached the first church cemetery, three blocks away. Only a few over and they would reach her favorite site, the small, private cemetery, no longer well kept or maintained, just at the outskirt of a small patch of woods. This area was considered by most to be the “wrong side of the tracks,” although Verity had yet to find actual trails or railroad anywhere near. 

Verity knew many of the city’s homeless tended to stay for the night in this particular cemetery, away from the police headlights and the public eye. Some took to the woods as well. She was fairly certain that she and Giabella would find an appropriate target here.

“Here,” she whispered to the other child, nodding towards the cemetery’s faded sign, reading Rice Memorial in faded letters. “This is where we are to go.”

Giabella gasped, her pupils large and shiny with her fear as she stared at the rusted gates before them, her long fingernails leaving indentations in Verity’s arm. 

“It’s…the gates are locked, Verity,” she said shakily, “that means we can’t go in. That’s trespassing, we aren’t supposed to-“

“I’ll lift you over,” Verity informed her easily, eyeing the distance and determining it to be an uncomplicated feat for her strength. “And then I’ll climb up. It’s perfectly safe.”

“But…Verity, it’s a cemetery!” Giabella moaned, her normally pale face even more ashen than usual as she looked at the older girl in beseeching. “And not a church cemetery, we don’t know who was buried here or what kind of people they are! What if…what if there are ghosts? Or…oh no, Verity, what if bad people are inside there? What if it’s grave robbers, or, or…what if it’s devil worshippers?! Don’t those kind of people like to dessert-cate graves? Oh, Verity, we can’t!”

Verity had to bite down hard on the inside of her cheeks to keep from snorting laughter at Giabella’s mispronunciation of the word “desecrate.” Her concern was truly unnecessary. Little did the girl know that the most dangerous person in the area was her own “best friend,” standing directly beside her with her arm in her own hands. 

“God will protect us,” she said when she was certain her voice was serious and steady again. “Don’t you remember, fear no evil when you walk through the valley of the shadow and death? Here’s your valley, Giabella. Walk the talk.”

Shifting her small backpack more securely onto her shoulders, she dragged Verity forward, cupping her hands in front of her for Giabella to step onto. When Giabella hesitated, Verity made an impatient noise in her throat. 

“You step onto them, and I’ll push you up enough to pull yourself up. Then you drop down to the other side of the fence.”

“But-“ 

When Giabella didn’t follow through, Verity huffed aloud, thoroughly annoyed with the girl. Taking a step back, she squatted and jumped, easily grasping hold of the top of the ten-foot fence post and pulling herself to straddle it. As Giabella gaped up at her, Verity reached a hand down. 

“If you won’t step, then I’ll pull. Just be quick about it.”

With far more effort from Verity than she thought was necessary, both she and Giabella eventually ended up on the inside of the cemetery gates, their feet firmly planted once more on the ground. Giabella latched onto the older girl again immediately, her shoulder bumping into her backpack as she pressed closed against her side. 

“What…what are we supposed to do in here, Verity?”

She had so damn many questions, for a girl who claimed to live a life of faith. Why were they sneaking out, what if they got caught, what was in the backpack, why didn’t she get a backpack, why the cemetery, why, why, why. It was enough for Verity to start having questions of her own- such as why she went to so much trouble with this girl, when it would be so much easier just to kill her and be done with it.

But no, she had made a commitment to this long-range, more complicated plan. Verity was not a quitter, and she was not one to take the easy route, simply for faster gratification. Not when she had worked so hard and come so far.

Tonight was the first and most important chapter of Giabella Higgins’s downfall, of the little girl’s corruption and ultimate ruin. Tonight, Giabella Higgins would become a murderer.

She ignored the child’s queries when possible, stilling and silencing her when she could no longer stand her voice. Leading her slowly, carefully through the cemetery grounds, she scanned the perimeter, especially over the surface of the graves. 

And then she saw it. A man, appearing in his sixties or so, but possibly younger; it was difficult to tell, with people clearly used to living in the rough. He was dressed in several layers of clothing, although it was not cold enough outside for this to be comfortable, and the outer layer was stained and likely smelly from what Verity could guess. He was hunched over, half propped against a tree towards the eastern corner of the grounds, his stubbled chin drooping down towards his chest. A ripped laundry bag and a dirty pillow, sans pillow case, was clutched in his hands, as though to prevent any would be thieves from making off with them in his sleep. Eyes closed, he remained so motionless that Verity had to watch for several moments before she saw his chest rise and fall, signaling his living status.

This was what she had been waiting and watching for. Here was their victim, presenting himself as a clear and easy target. But he was not hers, not tonight. Tonight, he was all Giabella’s.


	11. Chapter 11

Taking Giabella’s hand and prying it off of her arm, Verity wrapped her fingers around it, nodding her head towards the man’s outline. She knew that Giabella wouldn’t be able to see him as clearly as she could, nor should the man hear their whisper from the distance.

“There…do you see him? The man there, beneath the tree?” 

Giabella sucked in her breath, swallowing hard. “Y-yes….who is that? Are we…are we meeting him?”

“You tell me, Giabella,” Verity challenged, keeping her voice soft. “You have God’s eyes, God’s gift. You are his chosen child. So tell me, Giabella, in that being, what do you see?”

Giabella’s fingers squeezed Verity’s, but not with enough strength to impact the older girl. She stood closely enough to Verity that her breath stirred the small hairs of Verity’s neck. Verity resisted her instinct to flinch at the sensation, allowing Giabella time to peer at the target in their sights.

“He’s…he’s dirty,” Giabella said tentatively, worrying her lower lip between her teeth. “And he’s sleeping. Why is he sleeping here? That’s creepy.”

“Tell me more,” Verity urged. “A dirty man, sleeping in the cemetery. What do you see?”

Giabella wrinkled her forehead, appearing uncertain. “I guess...is he drunk?” She glanced up at Verity, needing approval of her guess, or perhaps checking whether Verity was still unsatisfied with her response. “Oh! Is he a hobo?”

Inwardly Verity snickered at the quaint term. What fifth grader even knew words like that, let alone used them? Giabella didn’t just watch shows like the Brady Bunch or Little House on the Prairie, she was living them.

But not anymore, she wouldn’t be. Not after tonight.

“Yes,” Verity acknowledged with a nod. “He’s homeless. He’s homeless, but he doesn’t work or seek out an honest living or even shelter. He is against the decent, respectable rules of society. He’s dirty, as you said, Giabella. He’s drunk as well, even out in public, where children like you and I can see.”

“Is this public?” Giabella wondered aloud. “I mean, I guess a cemetery is, but it’s night, and we aren’t really supposed to be out-“

“He’s a drunk, and he’s a thief,” Verity spoke over her with conviction, irritated by her contradiction. As though in punishment, she tightened her grasp of Giabella’s hand just enough for the child to gasp aloud. “He expects respectable, God-fearing men to provide him his living, and to stand back and allow his crooked ways of life. He even goes so far as to sleep with the dead, disrespecting those simply trying to rest in peace. He is all those things and more. Tell me, Giabella, what more do you see, with God’s eyes?”

Giabella had been following along with her pronouncement readily enough, wide-eyed and nodding, but when Verity addressed her with the question, she stammered, taken aback at having to give an original response.

“Um…” she snuck another look at the still sleeping figure, slightly more brave than previously in her demeanor. “Uh…he’s…I think he’s kind of scary, Verity.”

“That’s because he’s a sinner,” Verity said firmly. She squeezed Giabella’s hand again, emphasizing the words, and met her eyes with her own, forceful, unblinking. “You see that, don’t you? You have the ability, you have the hand of God within you to see it.”

“Yes,” Giabella said softly, her head barely inclining with her nod. Her eyes slid to the still dozing man, then returned to Verity’s. “Yes, I see, Verity.”

“And what, Giabella,” Verity pressed, her voice sliding lower, “did God tell you to do with sinners like him?”

She leaned close, making it impossible for Giabella to so easily slide her eyes from her gaze. The child squirmed, but did not attempt to shift away.

“I’m…I’m supposed to…bring him to justice,” she remembered the words that Verity had whispered in her ear. “But how do I do that, Verity? What does it mean?”

Verity remained silent, watching her, waiting to see if she would be able to work out the details that she had only vaguely implied so far. It was too much to expect of the girl. 

“Do we, like, call the police? Do we tell the priest to come talk to him? Do I…does God want me to talk to him?” Giabella wondered aloud.

It would take her the rest of her natural lifetime to figure it out at this rate, Verity realized. She helped her along. 

“No. You will do none of those things.”

Shrugging Giabella off of her with little effort, Verity slid her backpack off of her shoulders and knelt on the ground, extracting the object she had hidden inside. She held the knife up for Giabella to clearly see, admiring the way its blade glinted, nearly reflecting her face in the pale light of the moon. It was not the largest knife from her mother’s kitchen, but it was the sharpest. Verity had tested to be certain.

Holding it out to Giabella, she made certain the girl’s full attention was on her and the knife in her hand as she whispered the answer Giabella sought, unable to keep the satisfaction and anticipation fully from her tone.

“You will use this. You will bring him to justice with this.” 

Giabella gasped, loudly and sharply enough for Verity to step in front of her, blocking the man’s view if he were to open his eyes. She didn’t want him to see Giabella or the knife before she was ready for him to, if he ever did at all. The younger girl took a step back almost involuntarily, shaking her head.

“Verity, what? You mean…you mean kill him?”

“It is God’s command,” Verity told her, holding the knife steady, blade pointed out, an offering for Giabella to accept. “He has chosen you to carry out his plan, and you promised to accept. You should be honored to be trusted for something so important, so sacred.”

“But…but I can’t,” Giabella whimpered. Her hands twisted together in front of her chest, her eyes wide and wet with unshed tears. “I can’t do that, Verity, that’s wrong! That’s a mortal sin, to murder!”

“It’s a sin to disobey the word and commands of God,” Verity countered, taking another step forward, deliberately crowding Giabella’s space. She pushed her face close to hers, making her expression dark and foreboding as she leaned in. “Is that what you’re doing, Giabella? Are you telling me you choose to disobey God’s direct command to you?” 

“I can’t!” Giabella began to cry, her features sagging and soft with her sniffles. “He’s b-bigger than me, Verity, he’ll kill me before I kill him!”

“David brought down the giant Goliath,” Verity reminded her, ruthless in expression and tone. “And so will you prevail against a larger foe, an enemy of God.”

“It’s murder!”

“It’s carrying out God’s command for you,” Verity repeated. She did not let the other girl’s eyes escape hers, even as she continued to weep. “It’s doing as you have promised him, dedicating yourself to his will as you have already said you were worthy to do. He chose you, Giabella. He chose you for a reason, and he is testing your devotion now. Will you fail God, at this very first test? No one said that being God’s prophet or his servant is easy. No one said that his hands and feet move without struggle. But he does promise that his rewards to his faithful few are great and glorious.”

She hardened her voice, narrowing her eyes to angry slits. “But know this, Giabella Higgins. When God’s servants, those he has entrusted with his work, turn their back on Him, betray Him…his wrath for them is far more than His wrath against those who were never swearing their faithfulness from the start. Remember what happened to Judas? How long was it after his betrayal, before he took his own life? What do you think God said to him, for him to do that? How much anger and pain do you think he’s facing, even thousands of years later, in eternal hell?”

Giabella’s frame shuddered with anticipant horror, and she made no effort to stop her tears. She didn’t attempt to back further away from Verity, but she also didn’t reach towards the knife. Still, Verity noted her eyes shifting back to the man, as though reconsidering her aversion to his death, and softened her stance accordingly, encouraging her.

“It is the right thing to do, Giabella. Perhaps it is even for the man’s own good. Perhaps God desires his death at your hands, an act of faith, so he can give him mercy in the afterlife. Perhaps you will even meet him one day in heaven, and he will thank you and be just aglow with holiness that you and only you could bring him in his death. Remember, Giabella, God asked that Abraham sacrifice his own son. Imagine how hard that must have been, but Abraham was prepared to do it, because God asked. You don’t even know this man. Are you weaker and less faithful than Abraham? God has asked his people to kill entire cities of people, children, even, and all he asks of you is to end the life of this one man. This one sinner. It isn’t much to ask, Giabella, and it is the right thing to do.”

Giabella snuffled, wiping at her cheeks with the palms of her hands, and did not reply. It was enough. Verity noted a slight loosening of tension in her shoulders, in the posture of her frame, and seized on it. Extending her hand, she opened Giabella’s palm, curling her fingers around the knife so the child now held it in her grasp. Giving her hand a squeeze, Verity backed away, leaving her standing alone, and gave her a slight push to start her forward.

“Go.”

The little girl shuffled forward, one hesitant step at a time, the knife held so loosely in her fist that Verity suspected a toddler could have intercepted it without difficulty. She was still sniffling, still reluctant, but she was moving. She was doing as she had been told, and so Verity watched, eyes glittering with excitement. 

Giabella stopped perhaps a foot in front of the man, motionless, swallowing several times in convulsive, audible gestures. She raised her hand, the knife more unsteady in her grip than ever, enough that if she did attempt to stab, Verity suspected it would skid off of the man’s layers of clothing without even cutting the material. 

But she did not get the chance for the knife to descend. The man’s eyes snapped open with a hoarse, bellowing cry, and his callused fingers shot up, seizing hold of the wrist holding the knife. Giabella’s dark eyes bulged, and she shrieked, dropping the knife even before his hand had exerted significant pressure on her arm. When the man squeezed her wrist with force, then reached up with his other hand, forcing her to bend the wrist unnaturally to the side, Giabella’s scream shifted in pitch from startled fear to pure pain, shrill and sharp to Giabella’s ears. Verity heard the faint snap of a bone and knew it was broken.

“The hell you doing, who sent you?” the man was slurring, the words barely intelligible, eyes bloodshot and only partly open. “This’s my place, I claimed it! You can’t have my things!”

“Let me go, let me go, I don’t want it, please!” Giabella babbled, tears streaming unchecked down her cheeks. She twisted and bucked her body, but it was clear as Verity watched her that she didn’t have the slightest idea of how to fight someone, let alone how to extract herself from a larger person’s hold. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it! Let me go! Verity, help me, it hurts!”

Verity had no intention of helping her. This outcome was far too interesting. She watched calmly as the man ranted and raved, shaking Giabella by her broken wrist like a rag doll and further damaging the already injured bones. Giabella howled, her pleading to both the man and Verity taking on a frantic, keening note.

“Stop stop stop, please, I’m sorry I’m sorry! Verity please, we have to leave, Verity help me, please!”

It was not because of Giabella’s words, nor because of her injured state that Verity finally stirred herself into motion. Nor was she concerned with the possibility of the man’s retaliatory actions towards her or Verity herself. She strode forward to intervene only because she had some concern that Giabella was loud enough that someone might hear and interfere in an altogether different manner than she intended.

Coming alongside the pair, Verity picked up the knife that Giabella had dropped. She registered the relief and gratitude mingled with terror in the girl’s eyes and knew Giabella thought that she had come to rescue her, to finish the task that Giabella had been incapable of carrying out. Verity made sure to look her directly in the eyes as she wrenched Giabella’s wrist from the man’s grasp without effort, shoving him apart from them with just enough force for him to sprawl inelegantly to the ground on his backside. Taking Giabella’s hand and once again forcing her to wrap her fingers around the knife, she jerked her forward. With Giabella’s hand still firmly gripping the knife, surrounded by Verity’s own fingers, she thrust the blade forward, forcing the child to bury it to its hilt in the man’s heart.

Giabella’s shrill scream mingled in cacophony with the stabbed man’s choking gasp. Verity watched, dark eyes glowing with excitement as she squeezed Giabella’s fingers, refusing to allow her to release the knife or to twist away from her to run or separate from the impending death. She jerked the child’s hand forward further still, forcing her to stab further into the men until she felt the blade of the knife scrape his sternum and perhaps the curve of a rib.

“Hey, stop it! Stop- freeze where you are!”

Verity stilled, her muscles alert and prepared for action as her head twisted in the direction of the voice’s shout. It seemed to come from a distance of perhaps 100 feet, enough for its owner to see at least some of what was going on. Scanning the dim interior of the cemetery, she noted two females, one brunette and one blonde. Verity assumed them to be women rather than teenagers, based on height, build, and dress. She couldn’t determine which of them had addressed her and Giabella, but they were now approaching her in a run, at a much faster pace than she would have thought possible. 

She had no way to know in the few moments she had to make a decision who these women were, what they had seen, or how they had interpreted the scenario. She couldn’t know whether they had been hidden from her view, watching for all this time, or just happened upon her and Giabella moments ago. Either way, she could not take the risk of them seeing her closely enough to be able to identify her, nor could she be certain that they would believe any story she spun to explain the dying man at her feet or her presence in the cemetery at this hour. And she certainly couldn’t be positive that Giabella would back up her lies, no matter how frightened now she might be of Verity and her tales of God.

There was only one reasonable option available to her, hardly the one she had planned or desired initially, but it would have to do now. 

Verity let go of Giabella’s hand, allowing it to fall away limply from the knife’s handle, protruding from the homeless man’s chest. Half turning, she covered the child’s mouth with her left hand, preventing her from verbally identifying her to the women or asking for their help. With her right hand she yanked the knife from the man’s torso, having to use some force to do so, with the depth that it had penetrated his body. With a swift but certain swing of her arm, she buried the knife’s blade, slick and grimy already with blood, deep into the hollow of Giabella’s throat. 

It would not be prudent to stay long enough to savor the wet, choking gurgles of Giabella’s suffocating last efforts to breathe, nor to watch the arch of vivid blood spurting out from her neck in almost graceful arcs. Verity hated it, missing out on the full effect of the death, but it could not be avoided this time.

Releasing the child’s body abruptly enough that Giabella crumpled to the ground, a puppet cut loose from its controlling strings, Verity spared only the quickest of glances to gauge the distance between the approaching women and herself. It was minimal, far more than she could afford, and so she took off in a sprint into the trees, intent on leaving them far behind. For the moment she didn’t focus on where she was going or how far she might end up from her home. What was important was making sure the women didn’t get enough of a look at her face to be able to recognize her, should they see her in the future. Even more important, she had to make sure they couldn’t track or catch her if they left the dead or dying bodies behind to follow her. Not because she was afraid of what they could do to her, but because killing four people in one night, rather than only one, was a lot more than she’d anticipated, and therefore a lot more to try to cover up after.

Why the hell had the women been out in the cemetery anyway? Were they homeless too? 

Verity waited until five minutes and a considerable distance stretched between the cemetery and herself before she finally slowed to a walk, catching her breath and attempting to gather her bearings in her new location. It was only then that she felt a vague, irritating sense of having forgotten something, something important- perhaps even more important than the knife that she was already regretting having left behind.

She was almost home before the realization hit her. Her backpack…the backpack she had brought with her to stow away the knife from Giabella’s view. She had left it in the cemetery. She had left it behind, with her name and grade clearly written in Sharpie on the label inside.

Fuck it all, she really was starting to lose her edge.


	12. Chapter 12

Faith was pretty well convinced she had screwed things up between herself and Buffy. 

It seemed to be a talent of hers, taking an already bad or awkward situation and making it worse. Given that she had rejected Buffy to some degree, shut her out, and then sunk into an uncomfortable, excruciating silence, Faith figured that Buffy would return the favor by going icy or prickly towards her in response. It would probably be what she had coming to her, and no less than she would expect.

But it didn’t happen. Although Buffy was quiet as they brought their bags into the hotel and reserved a room for the night, she didn’t make passive-aggressive comments or give her looks barely containing resentment or dislike. If anything, Buffy just seemed subdued, even somewhat sad.  
The quiet between them bothered Faith more than any raised voices or harsh words could have, because it was communication she couldn’t interpret or understand. She hated not knowing where she stood with things, sometimes so much that she would provoke people just to get a clear response from them. Ironic, given how indirect she tended to be with sharing her own feelings, at least when it came to matters beyond the surface level.

She didn’t like a quiet Buffy Summers, and she definitely didn’t like a Buffy Summers who was sad or hurt. Especially if she was the one who had caused it.

She noticed too as they made their way to their assigned room that Buffy was giving her physical space, more so than was necessary, as though concerned how Faith would respond if they so much as brushed. It was obvious, unnecessary, and bothered Faith enough for her to replay their earlier conversations on repeat in her memory, looking for an understanding that had somehow passed her by.

What stood out to her in her memory, once re-analyzed, was how sincerely Buffy had spoken to her, the intensity of emotion, though controlled, shining out from her face. Buffy had believed every word that she was speaking to be truth, as hard as those words were for Faith to accept as reality. 

But if they were true, or if Buffy wanted them to be, then she did care for Faith, far more than Faith would have imagined. Buffy was drawn to Faith, as Faith was drawn to her, even found her attractive beyond the simple physical sense of hormonal response or objective observation. If what Buffy said was true, then she wanted to be close to Faith, to let their instinctive attraction to each other develop into something beyond attraction, beyond being coworkers or fellow warriors to a cause, perhaps even beyond friendship. 

If what she said were true, Buffy had finally come to look at Faith and see her for who Faith was trying to be, rather than who she had once been. She had finally truly come to see her as worthy, even equal. 

It seemed so impossible. But Buffy believed it. Buffy believed it all. And no matter how crazy she might be for it, over everyone else, Buffy wanted to be closer to Faith. 

The realization sank in fully once Faith and Buffy reached the hotel room, just as Faith started to slide the hotel key from its small envelope. She startled, almost dropping both objects as she understood all at once that although Buffy had made it clear she didn’t want or intend to hurt Faith, it was highly likely that Faith’s unexplained and likely confusing guardedness towards her was hurting Buffy.

“Oh, fuck it all,” Faith muttered aloud, her tone heavy with exasperation towards herself more than the key she was fumbling to insert correctly. As she pulled the door open at last, holding it for Buffy to step past her in entering, she was aware of the hesitant look on the blonde’s face as she regarded her, the anxious way that she bit her lower lip before speaking.

“Faith…look, about what I said earlier. I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable. Obviously, that failed, and maybe I did misread some things. I know I tend to overwhelm people with words sometimes, and I obviously caught you off guard-“

“No,” Faith interrupted her, holding up a hand to stop her. 

Buffy frowned, taking a step back as though to give Faith even more of the space she thought the other woman needed, but Faith breathed out slowly, then took two steps forward, closing out the space Buffy had attempted to put between. As new questions began to light in Buffy’s eyes, Faith shook her head, reaching out a hand with awkward but sincere intent to reassure, resting it on Buffy’s upper arm.

“No, you…you didn’t. I mean, yeah, I was thrown off some, but…what you read, it wasn’t wrong.”

She swallowed, her hand exerting faint pressure against Buffy’s arm in an effort to ground herself. Even that small bit of contact, with the material of Buffy’s shirt preventing her from touching bare skin, was enough for a spark of energy and adrenaline to surge through her chest, and Faith focused on this, tried to match her words to its pull.

“I’m…I’m not any good at this, Buffy. I don’t really do the talking thing, or the feelings analysis thing, or….whatever it was you were asking from me, or wanting from me, I’m not completely sure, but I know it’s something new. Something I’d usually try like hell to stay away from.” She paused, licking her lips unconsciously. “But I don’t want to now. Not with you.”

The skin around Buffy’s eyes relaxed, the confusion and trepidation in her expression softening into faint traces of hope. Her free hand drifted up to touch Faith’s hand on her arm lightly, just enough for the contact to register. “You mean…”

“I don’t know what I’m doing, or if it’s a huge mistake, and I’ll probably screw it up every step of the way,” Faith said quietly, another somewhat shaky breath escaping audibly. “But I told you a while back I’d stop pretending. So if I’m going to hold to that promise, then I’ve got to be straight with you on this. What you want, what you feel…it’s not just you.”

Buffy’s lips curved upward, and she squeezed Faith’s hand, the very tips of her fingers lining up with the bumps of Faith’s knuckles, fitting between each as though slotted there in design. 

“So….” She started, and Faith cut her off, a small, only slightly forced smile given to her in return.

“So what we’re gonna do now is put our shit down, and I’m taking you out to dinner and a drink somewhere while it’s still light enough outside we can put work shit aside for later tonight, when all the big bads and slaughtering Slayers come out to play. And we’re gonna try out this new thing, of not being alone. Together. All right?”

Buffy’s smile, small, shy, but genuine, was enough of an answer for Faith even before she nodded her head in response. Her fingers tugged at Faith’s, wordlessly asking her to let them lace with hers, and when Faith complied, her stomach flipping with the gesture, her smile brightened, shining out through her eyes as well.

“Sounds like a plan. Guess you’ve learned a lot about how to lead, haven’t you?”

88

Faith’s spur of the moment plan had turned out to be exactly what they needed to turn things back. She had chosen a Mexican restaurant for their dinner location, figuring that at least their drinks would be decent if the food wasn’t, and because she was something of a sucker for endless free chips and salsa. The restaurant was brightly decorated inside with murals of Mexican culture, sombreros, potted trees, and draped sarapes hanging from the walls and booth dividers. It was fairly crowded for a weeknight, noisy with Hispanic music and the voices of those inside, but Faith didn’t mind. The booth she and Buffy chose was high enough to give them privacy while the noise was enough to feel that they were shielded from being overheard. 

Over the course of the dinner plans were made for later patrolling of the cemeteries and backstreet areas of the town, but their interaction and conversation were hardly all business. By the time they had eaten and had several drinks each, their uncertainty and tension had loosened up enough that they were speaking easily, without strain or self-censoring, and eye contact and laughter came easily. Although their touches were accidental at first, from passing objects or unintended brushes of feet beneath the table, this too shifted into more frequency of occurrence, and then to clearly intentional and blatant gestures causing unnecessary contact of some kind. After Buffy’s second margarita and most of a daiquiri, she actually slid out of her own seat at their booth and into Faith’s, scooting herself close to her until their legs and hips touched. She made a gesture as though she were only meaning to steal some of Faith’s food, but her proximity remained when all plates had been cleared, and Faith didn’t mind it at all. In fact, although she had consumed far more alcohol before without anything close to intoxication, she felt like her entire body was buzzing.

By the time they left, several hours had passed, and daylight had long passed. As they exited the restaurant, Faith and Buffy didn’t hold hands, but their bodies remained unconsciously close, often touching without jerking back or flinching in response to the contact. If anything, those touches lingered, their bodies drawn into physical contact more than in maintaining their own separate space. When Buffy eventually slipped a slightly hesitant hand into the crook of Faith’s elbow, wordlessly asking permission to link her arm through more fully, warmth flushed through her, and Faith shifted to accommodate her, keeping her near.

She still wasn’t sure what was happening between them, or how it had come about. But she was starting to understand that her desire for it to continue outweighed her self-protective instincts to deflect it away.

Buffy had pulled up directions on her phone to each of the cemeteries that they had identified, complete with the order that they were supposed to arrive at each. Fayetteville was a small town, without much of a night life going for it, and the streets were nearly empty both of people and cars as they started with patrolling the backsteets around the main town areas, identifying sites where bodies had been found. 

There were no visible homeless, dealers, or even vampires out even in the backstreets, perhaps because of the recent murders, so they shifted their focus to the cemeteries, sites more likely to yield pay dirt. As soon as she used the term, Buffy, being Buffy, had comments on the term, as soon as it was used.

“Where does the phrase “pay dirt” come from, anyway? Who paid with dirt? Or paid out to dirt? Since when is that a thing?” 

Faith, amused by her typically Buffy line of thought, stooped to scrape a handful of dirt from the ground, playfully flicking it in her direction.

“Paid in dirt, B. Happy now?”

Buffy squawked, as much in horror at her now dirt-spattered blouse as in surprise at the gesture, and kicked up dirt in Faith’s direction, not willing to get her nails dirty underneath by picking some up in her hands. Faith laughed at her, nodding down towards her newly dirt-scuffed feet with a smirk.

“Nice, now your shoes match your shirt.”

Their walk to the first cemetery consisted far more of playful shoving and teasing, after Buffy had somewhat sheepishly attempted to clean her shoes, than it did professional, serious planning or preparation for possible confrontations or battles. Nevertheless, when Buffy was ready and swift in response when the first vampire presented itself, not needing any backup or warning shouts despite its sudden appearance from behind her. They got through the first few cemeteries quickly and with ease, finding a steady rhythm to the slayings as soon as the first vampire popped up. It had been months since they worked together in this way, all the way back in the time of Sunnydale’s existence, and yet it seemed effortless to fall back into, a seamless coordination that was almost a graceful despite its brutality. Faith was very much aware of Buffy’s body, seeming to exist in humming complement of her own by her side and at her back in battle, and she felt vividly alive, engaged, and almost joyful, as she never seemed to experience at other times.

This was them firmly in their element, acting out the role that they were both called and chosen to play. Slaying had always felt right, regardless of where it happened or when, but only with Buffy did it feel like true destiny. 

The vampire population wasn’t overly large in Fayetteville; in five cemeteries, they found a total of five, with two of them empty at the time the Slayers visited. Still, five stakings was a good night’s patrol, and Faith could see in Buffy’s bright gaze and unconscious smile every time she looked over at her that she was feeling the effects of it as Faith was herself. There was only one cemetery left on their list to patrol, the smallest and most private one, furthest out from the town’s center. Both expected little from it, given its location, but neither would have felt satisfied skipping it, and so they set forward to Rice Memorial as their final stop for the night, Buffy’s hand again lightly curved through Faith’s arm as they walked. 

They had barely reached the outer edge of the cemetery gates before they heard the agonized cries from inside it. The voice was female, young-sounding, and clearly distressed, broken up with sobs and pleas that were too far away to understand. Faith stiffened, feeling Buffy too grow tense beside her, and they quickened their pace to reach the grounds. They didn’t bother with the gates; too much time would be wasted and too much attention drawn to them by walking around and entering from the front. Instead they simply leap over, first Faith, then Buffy, landing with as little noise as possible, head up and eyes sharp for any danger awaiting them inside. 

Once inside the cemetery grounds, they could see the figures that presumably owned the voices they had heard before. Two females, small enough in frame that they could not yet be adult, and what looked like an adult male, his face turned away from their direct view. The man was sitting on the ground, his back against a tree, his arm outstretched with his grip on the smaller girl’s arm. As the Slayers watched, the child jerked her arm to no avail, attempting to pull from his grip. It was she who had been screaming, and now that her face was visible, the Slayers could see that she was sobbing, trying to extract herself from the man’s hold and pleading with him to release her. She looked to be maybe ten or eleven years old, and very much afraid. 

The other child, slightly taller with darker hair, made no attempt to help the smaller girl, nor did she show any inclination to run from the person holding the girl in place. Indeed, the look of intensity in her narrow eyes was one Faith recognized as interest, even amusement, rather than anxiety or fear. She stood with her arms crossed over her narrow chest, simply watching. None of the three appeared at all aware of the Slayer’s arrival on the scene.

Faith could feel Buffy tense up beside her, one hand moving automatically to touch the stake at her belt. 

“He kidnapped those girls,” she murmured to Faith, not loudly enough to be overheard by the others. “Or else he’s a vampire, or both. But she’s hurt. Come on, I’ll get her away from him, then you-“

“No,” Faith interrupted, shaking her head slightly. Her eyes didn’t leave the three figures as one hand drifted to touch Buffy’s arm, stilling her. “Wait.”

“Wait?! Faith, he’s hurt her! We need to-“

“Remember who we’re here for?” Faith hissed under her breath, putting more pressure behind the touch to Buffy’s arm. “A Slayer. Also known as a kid. Just give it a second- just two more seconds, wait.”

The words had barely left her mouth before the older girl strode forward, arms reached out at last as though to offer assistance to the younger. Faith heard Buffy’s quickly stifled gasp when the little girl wrenched her companion without effort from the man’s tight grasp, showing no difficulty with breaking a hold that the smaller child had been struggling against. The now-released child had barely drawn the breath to cry out before they witnessed her hand being forced by the larger child around a knife. With the bigger girl’s hand driving the smaller child’s forward, they stabbed into the man’s chest, even as the younger girl’s eyes grew huge with horror at what she was being made to do.

In those few moments where Faith saw the knife strike home, she flickered back four years in time, fast as a blink. Once again she was standing in a darkened alley, hunched over the hunched, gasping figure at her feet, her hands stained with his blood. Once again a human being was bleeding out in front of her, and she was helpless to stop it, helpless to save his life. 

“No,” she whispered, the words escaping as hardly more than a breath, her skin growing cold with shock. “No-“

“Hey, stop it! Stop it, stop where you are, freeze!”

The words called out were loud, close, and sufficiently sharp and clear in tone to shake Faith from her flashback. Her vision clearing, she understood in moments that it was Buffy who had spoken, impulsively addressing the girl with the knife. Heat rushed to Faith’s face, driven by some embarrassment at her brief lapse, but also by quickly dawning clarity of the situation. This murdering kid in front of them was almost certainly the one they were looking for- the serial killing Slayer, caught mid kill. The MO might be different this time, but how many overly strong, homicidal teenagers could one small town hold?

The girl’s head whipped about in the direction of Buffy’s call, and in the few seconds that passed when she, Faith, and Buffy met each other’s eyes, Faith’s suspicion that they had stumbled across the same girl they were seeking became certainty. She could see it in the total lack of fear, alarm, or even anger in the girl’s expression, in the confident way that she held her body and maintained her subduing grasp of the smaller child’s. The girl was not at all bothered by what she had just done, nor had it come as a shock or surprise. She showed no emotion in her gaze but disgust and perhaps irritability- not towards the person she had just stabbed, but towards the complications that could occur from having been observed doing it.

When Faith felt Buffy start forward towards the girls, she followed a beat later, quickly breaking from a fast walk to a run. They had to catch the girl, corner or restrain her before she bolted, before she did something to further harm the other child or the man she had stabbed. 

But the child was prepared. In what seemed hardly enough time to blink, let alone act, she had retrieved the knife from the now dying man’s chest and driven it deep into the smaller girl’s throat. Before the injured little girl had even hit the ground, she was in motion, weaving in and out of graves and through the cemetery gates in escape. By the time the Slayers skidded to a stop in front of her victims, still gushing blood and gasping wetly for breath, the child was nearly out of view entirely.


	13. Chapter 13

In less than sixty seconds, the fleeing little girl had managed to cause a scene of utter chaos and crisis. The man was likely dead or moments from it, the steady flow of blood from his chest already beginning to slow and clot, eyes taking on a glazed sheen as his life approached its final moments. The younger child was crumpled in a heap of crooked limbs at the Slayers’ feet, eyes bulging with stunned anguish, arms jerking without any semblance of control. In minutes, maybe seconds, she would bleed out from the gaping wound at her throat…but in even less time, her murderess would be far beyond their grasp.

For a second Faith froze up, unsure of what to do. Which was the bigger priority- catching a killer, before she could harm any others, or doing what she could to give the dying child even the smallest chance of survival? But Buffy, quickly seeing and interpreting her indecision for what it was, decided for her.

“Go after her, Faith! I’ll stay to help. Go, hurry!”

With this directive, Faith set off, knowing that if the little girl she’d left behind had any chance at all of life, Buffy Summers would be the one to save her. Buffy, more than anyone else she knew, had the best chance of making it happen.

She followed after the direction she had seen the older girl disappear towards, deciding on the move to simply go in a straight line, keeping her eyes and ears open for any sight or sound that might indicate where she had gone. Even as she ran she cursed herself for her brief hesitation, because in that small amount of time, the girl had already disappeared from her view, without leaving easily identifiable traces as to where she was going or if she had any particular destination in mind. 

The main problem was the kid had headed straight for the damn woods. And although she may very well have made plenty of noise in her wake, stomping on twigs and leaves and thrusting back branches thwarting her, it would be pretty hard to distinguish between noise she was making and noise Faith herself was making chasing after her. The complete darkness surrounding her was also little help, and the treetops were thick enough over her head that Faith didn’t even get the benefit of moonlight to help her see ahead of her. On more than a few occasions she slammed her arms, knees, and torso into tree trunks or bushes, caught strands of her hair in branches, and once fell onto her hands and knees, scraping her palms on the forest floor. She didn’t register any sensation from the scrapes or bruises that were likely forming; she was far too intent on her increasingly futile efforts to catch up to the child who clearly knew far better than Faith where she was going.

When Faith fell for the second time, dimly aware of the material of her jeans ripping at the knee, she stayed on the ground for a few moments, delaying getting back to her feet. Her own breathing sounded far too loud and uneven to her ears, the woods around her eerily silent in comparison. Straining her ears, she attempted to make out footsteps in the distance, perhaps a muffled curse….anything to give her an idea of where the girl she was pursuing might be. But Faith heard nothing but the steady throb of her own pulse and the occasional call of an owl several feet above. 

The girl had escaped. Faith had not been able to stop her, nor to catch her, and for tonight, the girl had gotten away.

Faith’s thigh muscles cramped as she slowly got to her feet, brushing off her hands with harsh, quick gestures against her pants. She didn’t want to look down, once she was able to see clearly again, to take in the sight of her own blood on her hands. No matter how many times that happened, and no matter how innocent or noble the reasons, it never failed to trigger unease. Jaw clinched, shoulders tensed at what she saw as a defeat, a failure, she turned, heading back in the direction she had come- back to Buffy, and back to the victims the little girl had left in her wake.

She quickened her pace when it occurred to her that Buffy might need assistance with the little girl whom had been stabbed- or worse, in self-defense. What if the murdering girl had somehow gone in a circle, coming up behind Buffy in the cemetery again in yet another attack that Buffy would be unprepared for? What if Buffy was so focused on the other girl that her attacker was able to actually catch her by surprise? If that kid managed to hurt Buffy, after Faith had been unable to track her down, Faith would not be able to forgive herself. And if she actually killed her- fuck, Faith would resign as lead Slayer right on the spot. 

But as she broke through the woods and the cemetery gates came back into view, Faith saw that Buffy was alive, uninjured, and still alone with the girl’s victims on its grounds. Her head turned towards Faith, hearing her approach, and even before Faith looked more closely at the injured, she could see in the flatness of Buffy’s gaze and the hard set to her jaw that she had been unable to save either. 

Faith kept her voice soft as she drew closer, eyes fixed on Buffy’s face. She didn’t want to look at the bodies more than necessary, especially the little girl’s. Besides, it was Buffy who was her first concern, with the victims beyond their help. But Buffy spoke first, her eyes scanning Faith’s body quickly and lingering on her bloodied hands and knees.

“You’re hurt. Was it the girl?”

“No,” Faith said, exhaling. “Just some pissed off trees and sticks. I’m fine, don’t worry about me.”

She paused, knowing Buffy’s follow up question without her needing to speak it, but reluctant to admit to the answer.

“I didn’t find her,” she said quietly. “Couldn’t even track where she went. She got away.”

Her answer wasn’t a surprise to Buffy, of course, given the girl’s absence. Nevertheless Faith saw a muscle twitch in Buffy’s jaw, her throat working briefly as she crossed her arms over her chest. Faith noticed the blood then, spattered up her arms and across her blouse and jacket, heavy enough to seep through to her skin beneath. Buffy’s hands hid in the folds of her arms as though ashamed to present themselves, but Faith saw the dark red stains on their skin before they were moved out of her view.

She knew without having to ask that the blood was not Buffy’s. She knew too, from her own experience, how Buffy’s skin must itch and burn with its desire to separate itself from the substance that had once been the life force of another living being…the blood of the murdered little girl.

Her eyes traveled up from Buffy’s slightly slumped frame to her face, seeing a shimmer of tears stand for a few seconds in her eyes before Buffy blinked them back, containing. Buffy cleared her throat before finally responding to Faith, her tone even, almost lifeless.

“It wasn’t your fault, Faith. She was fast.”

“Of course she was fast, she’s a fucking Slayer,” Faith retorted, the aggression in her voice directed much more prominently towards herself than towards Buffy. “But so was I, last I checked. And catching a kid born after I started wearing bras should have been a given. So if it’s not my fault, then whose is it?”

“Hers, as far as we can tell right now,” Buffy countered, the firmness of her voice and expression overriding some of the anger Faith had allowed to flare. “Neither of us had anything to do with what she’s been choosing to do with her nights. Other people’s actions are not our fault, but stopping them before they act and saving those they hurt is our responsibility.”

She softened her tone a bit, but continued to hold Faith’s eyes with her own. “You didn’t find the killer. I didn’t save her victim. Both of us fell down on our responsibilities tonight, but that still doesn’t make this our fault.”

The logic didn’t seem quite linear to Faith, but something about the confidence that Buffy said it with seemed to make it right nevertheless. Regardless, it wasn’t worth her time or energy to argue at this time, whether or not she bought in. 

She let out a breath before making herself look at more closely at the child that she had left behind in her pursuit. She had seen a lot of death, obviously, and a hell of a lot more dead teenagers than she ever liked to think about or remember. But Faith had never seen a dead child as young as this one.

The little girl seemed even smaller to her up close, delicately featured and pretty in the generic way that most young girls were before growing into more individualistic features. She was undeveloped physically, likely still in the elementary school grades. She could tell from the style of her clothes that they were expensive, that someone had put thought into making sure she would look fashionable and nice.

The child belonged to someone, at her age and her socioeconomic status. She was no drug addict or homeless waif, no runaway from the wrong side of the tracks. She was going to be missed in the community, and likely soon. 

Faith noticed that Buffy had moved the child’s body, straightening her arms and limbs as though she were sleeping rather than deceased. She guessed she was attempting to make the girl look more peaceful, but there was nothing natural about a little kid sprawled out on the ground, surrounded by tombstones, her clothes soaked with her own blood. There was no way to make someone look peaceful who’s throat was now a gaping wound. 

“Your fingerprints,” Faith muttered, nodding towards Buffy’s still hidden hands. “You’ve touched her. Should we wipe her, or…?”

She remembered the story Buffy had told her a few months back, about how she had believed she had killed a man when she was sixteen. Had she been officially arrested or booked for that, with prints in the system? Faith’s certainly were, at least until Willow had hacked the prison system and removed all evidence she could find of Faith’s arrests and imprisonment. Would the child’s blood make Buffy’s prints less or more visible, if they were there to be found?

Buffy didn’t seem to hear her, or perhaps she chose not to respond, considering her own thoughts more important. The blonde was still staring down at the murdered child as she spoke.

“I tried to help her. I tried to save her…I put pressure on her throat, where it was bleeding,” she said quietly. “But she couldn’t breathe, she was choking. I couldn’t do CPR…the breaths would have just gone straight through her throat, where it was cut. It wouldn’t have made it to the lungs.”

Faith gritted her teeth, not liking to hear about this, the mental battle Buffy must have undergone in trying with so limited resources, so limited time, in how to save the child. She drew closer, reaching out a hand to her, then drew it back, not wanting to touch the blood that seemed to cover most of her clothes and skin. Buffy saw her hesitation and slowly unfolded her arms, making a half-hearted effort to wipe her hands on already drenched pants that provided little in the way of assistance in cleaning her. 

“All I could do for her was chest compressions,” Buffy finished, almost under her breath. “It didn’t help. It wasn’t enough.”

“Not your fault,” Faith reminded her of her own words. “Not your fault, Buffy. Look…we need to call someone. Ambulance, or something, whoever. Someone has to help her, and this guy, if he has anyone,” she nodded towards the adult victim a few feet away. “She has parents, a family, and maybe he does too.”

“Faith, of course we want to, but we can’t take that risk,” Buffy countered, not unkindly. “Your records may be wiped from the prison system, but that doesn’t mean you want to be making your face known to law enforcement, especially associated with crimes. Even an anonymous phone call is a risk we can’t take being traced back to us. The last thing we need right now is getting hauled in for questioning about being murderers so the actual murderer can have more time to get away. They’ll find her. They found all the others.”

That they knew of, Faith thought but didn’t say. There could very well still be victims that were not yet found, but she understood Buffy’s view, even agreed with it, as much as she disliked it. 

Still, it felt wrong to turn away from the child, to know that in minutes they would be walking away from her, leaving her body unidentified and abandoned in their wake.

“This is a shitstorm,” she muttered, running a hand roughly through her hair with her frustration. “We get here in the middle and still, what do we get out of it? A dead man and kid, an escaped killer, and fuckin’ nothing to go on.”

She squinted when she saw a slight smile curve Buffy’s lips, eyebrows lifting up. “Okay, did I miss something? What is even a little bit funny here?”

“We have something,” Buffy said simply. “Maybe even a lot.”

She nodded towards something lying several feet away, something Faith had not yet registered in the chaos and its aftermath. Following her gaze, Faith saw that there was a navy blue backpack lying on the ground, set apart from the wrapped bundles and knapsack beside the dead man. Clearly this was not his; it was clean, new, and looked hardly used.

“The slayer dropped it,” Buffy explained, some satisfaction in her voice. “It was hers.”

That was all Faith needed to hear before she snatched it up, unzipping it and sorting through its contents. None of them were notable, but nevertheless her face lit up in a smile that rivaled Buffy’s. Because written inside the backpack’s label in neat black marker was the name, grade, and school of the child they belonged to.

“Verity Catlett, grade 8,” she read aloud to Buffy. “Fayetteville Middle School.”

So out of the night’s failures, at least one huge victory had come their way. They knew the appearance, and now the identity, of the killing Slayer. And now, they knew at least one location they could definitely find her.


	14. Chapter 14

Given how much blood had soaked into Buffy’s clothes and stained her skin from her efforts at saving Verity Catlett’s victim, it was something of a concern as to how the Slayers would manage to get back inside their hotel without attracting attention on themselves. Eventually Faith ran into the first gas station she could find that was a chain brand rather than the backwoods type that was as likely to be selling hot dogs made of humans as gas, buying wet wipes for Buffy to attempt to clean herself and a thin hoodie for her to put on over her filthy clothes. Buffy had accepted this with few words, allowing Faith to drive them back to the hotel with minimal verbal exchanges between them. There seemed very little to say in the moment. 

They were able to make in into their room without attracting attention or getting flagged down as possible murderers, so the overpriced hoodie had been good for that much. Given the amount of blood still ground into Buffy’s clothes and skin, Faith allowed her into the bathroom first. It would have been cruel to make her endure the dead child’s blood against her a second longer than was necessary. If Faith itched with her need to scrub at her skin, the instinct to attempt to wash away the night’s events, how much more desperately must Buffy want to scour her skin until it was raw with her efforts, until she felt as clean inside as her skin had been made to be on the outside?

It had not felt right, somehow, to leave Buffy alone in the bathroom, even for the time it would take for her to shower. But then, Buffy had not asked her to come in with her, even to face away seated on the closed toilet seat, while she washed herself, and it would definitely seem weird or invasive to ask. Nevertheless, Faith found herself frequently stopping by the closed bathroom door as she paced the length of their hotel room, straining to hear if any unsettling sounds over the steady flow of the shower. She couldn’t hear Buffy crying, but that didn’t mean very much. Faith was pretty sure a woman as strong and stubborn as Buffy would have learned a long time ago how to cry in a way that didn’t attract attention, if she let herself cry at all. 

But what the fuck could she have done, even if she had heard Buffy crying? It wasn’t like she could just barge in on her, not without being explicitly invited. Fuck…feeling helpless, feeling useless and stuck and stupid like this was something Faith couldn’t stand, especially when it came to Buffy.

At least she didn’t hear things being broken. If Buffy took a page out of Faith’s own book and broke a shower wall or two, she would just have to live with Faith interrupting her privacy.

Faith had completed probably her three hundredth circle around the room before she heard Buffy shut the water off in the shower. She stilled, listening to the faint metallic noise of the curtain rings scraping the shower rod as Buffy presumably pushed it aside, the rustling, somewhat less distinct sounds of Buffy toweling and clothing herself to re-emerge. She was still straining her ears to identify what gestures behind the closed door that she could when it opened abruptly, close enough to hitting her that she jumped back with an involuntary gasp. Buffy raised an eyebrow at her, her head tilted with a somewhat judgmental gesture as she took in the proximity of Faith to the door, in addition to the way she had been directly facing it.

“You know, most people find it easier to spy on people through keyholes or under door cracks, they tend to be less solid than wood. Or, you know, you could be not-creepy and just ask somewhat what they’re doing or if you can come in?”

“Don’t know what you’re talking about, B,” Faith bluffed, but the smirk she attempted to give in response to Buffy felt forced and strange on her features, surely easy for Buffy to see through. “I wasn’t spying. I was just wondering how much longer you’d be in there, that’s all.”

“Ah, the power of the laser stare,” Buffy said lightly, but there was no smile reaching her eyes. “Zero seconds is your answer. Bathroom’s free. Sorry about the water, it’s pretty well past lukewarm and into the territory of arctic freeze.”

She moved past Faith to the bed that she had put her bag on, although since she had already dressed herself in a loose t-shirt and pale blue pajama bottoms, the gesture seemed more to give herself something to do than because there was something she genuinely needed. Faith’s gaze lingered on her for a moment before she took the unspoken hint and entered the bathroom, closing but not locking the door behind her.

The room was almost uncomfortably warm, the small mirror over the sink fogged up by the steam of Buffy’s shower. Faith let her clothes fall to the damp tile flower as she undressed, not caring if they too grew wet. She had no desire to ever wear them again, not if so much as a drop of the murdered little girl’s blood had come into contact with them. 

Buffy hadn’t been kidding about the coldness of the water left for Faith’s shower, but Faith didn’t care, hardly noticed, in fact. She took her time, focusing on rinsing and soaping one small section of her body at a time. She tried and failed not to think of Buffy, silent and reeking of a child’s blood in the small space of their rental car, of the tormented last screams of the little girl they had not been able to save. She thought of the child Slayer, fleeing, irritable, and defiant as she disappeared into the night, and more than she wanted she thought of herself, terrified and alone, weighting and dumping the body of her first kill nearly five years before. 

Who was this girl, this Verity Catlett, to have done the things she had, at such an early age? What had happened to her to make her go so much deeper and darker than Faith herself ever could?

Faith emerged from the shower only when she realized that her fingers were pruned, her teeth beginning to chatter with cold. Stepping out onto the damp floor of the bathroom, she took one of the hotel’s small provided towels and ran it over herself, noticing that her bare skin was riddled with goose bumps even before being dried. Dressing herself in the tank top and boy shorts she had brought to sleep in did little to warm her, but then, she hadn’t packed for her trip with the thought she would be taking long, freezing showers on the road. 

The condensation from Buffy’s shower had mostly cleared off of the bathroom mirror during her shower. Faith was able to see her image reflected back at her as she ran a comb roughly through her still damp hair, not caring that she was doing little to untangle knots and was likely breaking some of the strands. She generally spent little time in front of mirrors after the extremely limited access she had been provided in prison, but tonight she found herself staring at the woman she saw in its image. She wasn’t sure what she was trying to see in her own face, her own eyes, but whatever it was she was looking to find, it was missing. 

With her face washed clean of makeup, sweat, vampire ash, and human blood, she was thrown off by how young she looked, and how tired. Twenty-two years might not seem very old to most, but for Faith, who had been surprised to age out of her teenaged years, it generally felt like much more. It was strange to see that this wasn’t reflected in her appearance, and she wondered with some unease how often her perception of herself didn’t quite jibe with what others saw, both in appearance and beyond. How could she still look at herself sometimes, even now, and not know what to think or feel about the person she saw looking back? 

The knock at the bathroom door was gentle, respectful of her privacy, but Faith jumped nevertheless, biting back a curse as she tensed in automatic preparation of defense. 

“Faith? Are you almost finished in there?” 

Buffy. Somehow Faith had almost managed to forget that she wasn’t the only one in the hotel room. Hell, she had more or less forgotten she was in a hotel.

Letting out a slow breath, she nodded before realizing Buffy, super powered as she might be, wasn’t capable of seeing through walls.

“Yeah, almost out,” she called back. “Give me a sec.”

She ran the comb through her hair a few more times, somewhat more half-heartedly than her previous efforts, and made some attempt to wipe up the water she had dripped before opening the door for Buffy, gesturing past herself to the bathroom.

“All yours.”

She had expected to find Buffy standing on the other side of the door, waiting to be re-admitted inside. But the other woman was sitting on her bed, her legs hanging over its side. 

“I don’t need in again,” Buffy said softly, at Faith’s questioning look when she didn’t rise and walk back towards the opened door. “I was just wanting to see if you were okay in there, that’s all.” 

“Well….yeah, here I am, finished, okay, and out of there,” Faith said somewhat awkwardly, nodding down towards herself as if in evidence of the statement. “What, did you think I was going to drown myself?”

“No, of course not,” Buffy said, not rising to the bait. “I didn’t assume anything close to that. But you have to admit, it hasn’t been an easy night, Faith. For either of us.”

She paused, her lower lip briefly catching between her teeth before she spoke again. “I haven’t forgotten what we promised, about not pretending to be okay. I’m still going to hold to that, Faith, and I hope you will too.”

Faith’s eyes flickered back to Buffy’s, looking for judgment or anger, but there was nothing but tired sincerity in their surface. If the woman had any lingering tendencies to guard herself and her feelings from her, she had gone to effort to push them back. Even the way she held herself conveyed openness, almost an invitation, so unmistakably that Faith’s heart skipped. Despite the slumped set of her shoulders, the lankness of her unbrushed hair, and the weary, dark tent to the usual brightness of her eyes, Buffy somehow managed to present herself as aware, studying Faith’s face and posture. She, like Faith herself, had washed her face of makeup, but to Faith’s judgment, she looked older without it instead of younger, her cheekbones sharper and more angled without the blend of blush or power to soften their lines. It didn’t matter. Buffy was the kind of woman who would probably still be beautiful when she was in her eighties, if she managed to resurrect herself that many times to reach that milestone.

She didn’t realize that she hadn’t moved away from the doorway of the bathroom and was probably staring at Buffy in a fairly unsettling manner until Buffy shifted her weight on the bed with some discomfort, her eyes briefly shifting as she cleared her throat. 

“Um, do you plan to blink any time soon, or is that creepy glazed look of yours going to become a permanent thing now? I have to say I disapprove.”

Of course Faith blinked, startled, at this not so subtle nudge back into the present, and she made an effort at a chuckle, shaking her head.

“Sorry, I spaced. Forgot to turn my eyes off. Or on. Whichever.”

She made her way to her own bed beside Buffy’s, making a show of setting up her phone and charger on the night table in between. Buffy turned herself on the bed, sitting cross-legged and not bothering to pretend she wasn’t watching her. 

“Did you update anyone on what happened?” Buffy asked, just seconds before Faith had been about to make a comment about Buffy’s own creepy stare mode. “Giles, or Willow, whoever it is that would take the report? Is that something you do now, write reports, or dictate them or something?”

Oh. This was something Faith had not actually thought of since the moment she and Buffy first set eyes on the cemetery scene, even though, as Buffy had guessed, it was definitely something that needed to be done. She didn’t relish the thought of explaining to anyone else what had happened. How would they really understand, without having been there to see for themselves how it had all gone down? No matter what they might say in reassurance or how understanding they might be, Faith would not be able to hear or accept anything but judgment or disappointment in their responses. 

“Yeah, I’ll have to let them know,” she muttered, exhaling aloud. “But it’s late, I’ll give them the rundown tomorrow, when I have the aid of coffee and some degree of sleep on my side.”

“Right,” Buffy nodded, sighing in a near echo of Faith’s own utterance. “Tomorrow. I guess it’s not any rush.”

“Right, no rush,” Faith continued, the sarcastic, angry edge to her tone directed at herself, even as she responded to Buffy. “One kid’s gonna stay dead no matter what, and the other’s gotta make sure she gets back home so she gets a good night’s sleep, since it’s a school night and all. Wouldn’t want to miss curfew by committing extra murders or anything, not our girl.”

She kicked at the nightstand on impulse as the flicker of anger in her chest rose into a full on flame, all the more irritated when the lower draw broke in the middle with a jagged crack. Aware of Buffy watching her, and very much not wanting to turn to see the expression she might be directing her way, Faith held herself still, making an effort at calming her breaths as she dragged an almost scalping hand through her hair. 

“Sorry,” she said tightly, keeping her face turned from Buffy’s view. “Forget I said anything.”

“Faith.” 

Buffy’s voice was quiet, somehow understanding, without crossing the line into patronizing or gentle. Faith heard her body shifting again on the bed and braced herself for Buffy to stand, maybe even to make an effort at touching her. She didn’t know if she was more afraid of lashing out, should Buffy follow through with an attempt, or maybe breaking down…nor did she know which option might be worse. 

“We need to get some sleep, B,” she said roughly, straightening her back with deliberate rolling of first one shoulder, then the other, and a final jerking lift of her chin. “Lot of shit to get on with tomorrow, people to call, killers to catch. So good night, then, all right?”

She jerked back the blanket of her bed, kicking her body down beneath its tight tuck and punching her pillow as much to give a final venting of her coiled, angry energy as to attempt to get comfortable. She reached to turn off the lamp on their shared nightstand without asking Buffy if this was okay and without looking in her direction. After a few moments she heard the rustling noises of Buffy getting into her own bed, the faint creaks of her mattress as Buffy lay down across from her. She listened to her numbly, dimly grateful that Buffy wasn’t trying to push her further tonight than Faith was willing to go, whatever earlier promises she had made to the contrary.

“Good night, Faith,” Buffy said after her movements in the other bed had stopped, her words quiet. “Sleep well.”

“Good night,” Faith whispered back, the words coming out with difficulty through the tightness pressing against her throat. 

Though no further words were exchanged between them, Faith knew that Buffy was not sleeping. She suspected the woman had not even closed her eyes. She could hear her breathing, fast and uneven in its rhythm, as clearly as though Buffy were lying next to her rather than several feet away, and a part of her felt a strange, uncomfortable desire that this were reality. She had been the one to brush off any conversation or more physical proximity that Buffy might have thought to initiate, and yet now she lay with her muscles tight wires beneath her skin, all too alert in spite of her closed eyes.

For what seemed hours and was likely no more than minutes, ten at the most, Faith remained still, attempting to force herself body, brain, and feelings into compliance with each other. But her control wavered enough for her to finally break the quiet between them, the first crossing of a boundary she herself had placed.

“I know you’re not sleeping, B. You win, okay? Neither am I.”

“I didn’t know we were in a competition,” Buffy retorted, but the words were soft, even relieved.

Faith heard her shifting, perhaps sitting up in bed to face her, but she remained lying on her back, eyes still closed as she spoke again. Part of her feared what else might slip past her control if she let one more of her senses engage. She had already lost control of her thoughts and her words. 

“Clearly, we were, because competitions have winners and losers. I was wrong, you didn’t win. The killer kid did. We both lost, but I’m thinking not as much as the homeless guy and that little girl.”

Faith’s words were rough in tone, but she suspected Buffy wouldn’t take offense. The anger was not towards her, but herself, and the callousness of her phrasing was a flimsy mask of the genuine regret and sadness she was feeling. Whatever she had promised Buffy, it was hard to follow through, when the shit came down. She waited, almost hoping that Buffy would answer in equal combativeness, to give her something to fight and focus on, something far easier to attack than the reality of their night and its memories. 

But Buffy didn’t. Maybe because she was too tired to want to argue, maybe because she had truly given up her defenses when she promised to. Or maybe she simply understood what Faith was truly feeling, whatever her tone, because she was feeling the same way. 

“I can’t stop thinking of her either, Faith,” she said instead, and the quiet weariness in her tone subdued what little genuineness there was of Faith’s anger. “I get it. And I get if you don’t want to talk about it. We don’t have to. But sometimes…just because you don’t want something, doesn’t mean you don’t need it. Believe me, I get that now too.”

There seemed to be several layers and possible meanings behind Buffy’s words, and Faith didn’t miss this, nor could she settle on which to take in as most prominent. She settled for the easiest one to respond to, the one that had a definite answer.

“Which her are you talking about? The killer kid, or the dead one?”

Buffy’s answer was slow enough in coming that Faith would have thought she had gone to sleep, if she had not heard her shifting of breaths as she inhaled in and out with deliberate pausing in between.

“Both of them,” she said quietly. “Either. Take your pick, really, because one horror is more or less equal to the other.”

“This is what we came to do, Buffy,” Faith reminded her, pushing herself up to a sitting position and turning to face her, though she saw only the outline of Buffy’s face and body in the dark, not enough to make out her expression. “This is why we’re here. We knew the killer was probably a Slayer, and Slayer means young. We knew what we were getting into here.” 

She paused, then forced the words out in spite of her apprehension to the answer they might get. “Do you…do you want to back off from this? Have you changed your mind?”

“No,” Buffy shook her head definitively, her words decisive, certain, even somewhat annoyed in tone, as if Faith questioning her commitment was somehow an insult. “No, of course not. I told you I was in and I’m in, I don’t take back something I’ve committed to. This has to be done, and you and I are the ones to do it. It’s just…” 

She trailed off, and Faith could see the furrow of her brow even in the darkness as she searched for the words to explain herself. 

“Knowing what you’re getting into, having the expectation in your head, and then seeing it there, live and real, can be different sometimes. She was so…young. Both shes. I mean…I’ve never seen someone kill like that who was so young, and not a vampire or demon or something that just looked like a kid. And I’ve….”

She stopped, swallowing loudly enough that Faith heard the working of her throat and the subsequent inhalation as Buffy again gathered herself. Faith held herself tensely as she waited, sensing that something important was on her mind…something personal, maybe even secret.

“My cousin died when I was little,” Buffy said finally, her words low, almost husky. Had Faith not been watching her from only a few feet away, she would have not recognized Buffy’s voice as hers. “We were eight or nine, and she was sick. She died in front of me. She was…she was scared, and asking for help, and she couldn’t breathe…”

“Fuck,” Faith muttered, the curse slipping out without her quite conscious of it. She shook her head, one hand lifting as though towards Buffy, before it dropped back to her thigh and balled its fist, the distance between them stilling its gesture. “Buffy-“

“I found out after I was a Slayer it was a demon thing…long story,” Buffy finished, slightly louder and more controlled than before. “It just…what happened to Celia, and then seeing the little girl die. It wasn’t…unsimilar.”

She blinked several times, then met Faith’s eyes with hers. Faith hated the sadness she saw in them, the brightness of controlled feeling standing out in the dark. 

“I…I didn’t know that,” Faith mumbled, the words feeling as awkward and clumsy on her tongue as she herself felt. “I’m…I’m sorry.”

She kept her eyes on Buffy, fists clinched tight against her legs, nails digging in slightly towards her palms. The faint pressure of these gestures gave her a physical sensation to focus on, and she tried, attempting to use this as a shield against the memories threatening to rise up in association. Her mother, glassy eyed and limp on the bathroom floor, an overdose Faith had joked and ranted about as inevitable in coming, but nevertheless was unprepared to see as reality. Her first Watcher, naked, bleeding, anguished, and yet focused on her, her very last words begging for Faith to protect herself first. These were memories she kept pushed down deep, further down than any others, untouchable and beyond use in the future she strived for. She would not let them come to surface, not now. Not ever.


	15. Chapter 15

“You know I broke her ribs?” Buffy said suddenly, her voice a welcome interruption to Faith in her effort not to lose herself on a spiral of memory. “When I was trying to give her chest compressions. I tried to be gentle, but she was just so damn little. I could have broken her by hugging her, when she was…well, alive. I hate that sound, bones breaking. It sounds so…I don’t know, brutal. It makes my stomach flip inside out, and my heart…”

She took a shuddering breath in, let it out again, and Faith realized as she watched her, her own brow becoming a creased mirror of the other woman’s, that Buffy too was connecting the night’s events to memories, to some of the more horrific and heart-wrenching experiences she had endured. But unlike Faith, Buffy was talking about them. Buffy was putting them out into the open in words, making them known and alive in the moment for Faith as well as her.

Why was she doing this? How did it not tear her up inside to speak it out? And why Faith, out of everyone else she could go to? 

But even with her doubts and questions, Faith didn’t interrupt, didn’t ask Buffy to stop. She couldn’t have. She sat quietly, listening, hoping that this was what Buffy wanted or needed, because she didn’t know what else to do.

“I broke my mother’s ribs, after she was dead,” Buffy concluded softly. She didn’t cry, that Faith could see, but her hand nevertheless rubbed across her eyes, as though expecting to find tears. “I never told anyone that, other than the paramedics. The last time I ever touched her, I hurt her. And it’s the same for that little girl. I didn’t comfort her, in her last moments. I hurt her.”

“Buffy,” Faith broke in, unable to let that go, but Buffy shook her head, stopping her.

“No, I know, I was trying to help, it was an accident, I get that, Faith. I don’t want you to say anything. That’s not what I need. I just…I want to say it. I want to say it to you. You don’t have to do anything but hear me. That’s all I need, okay?

“Okay,” Faith said quietly, the words tentative, but sincere. “Okay, Buffy. Whatever you need.”

Her eyes had adjusted enough to the room’s dimness to see Buffy’s small effort of a smile, and she returned it tentatively. Both women shifted themselves slightly on their separate beds, but the quiet that fell between them was not one Faith found comfortable. She felt a need to say something, anything, to acknowledge the depth of what Buffy had said.

“You don’t talk about her much,” she ventured. “Your mom. She was…she was really a cool lady, a class act. She was always nice to me, even when…well, you know. I respected her, even in my evil and crazy phase.”

“Well, we’ve been a little on the busy side, talking about deaths from years ago wasn’t the priority in Sunnydale when we had deaths happening yesterday, and today, and coming up tomorrow,” Buffy pointed out wryly. “But you’re right. Even without the distractions of upcoming gory apocalypses, it’s not…it was never something I wanted to even think about. And talking about things you’re trying not to think about, that doesn’t really go too well together.”

Faith nodded, agreeing with this point all too well. This was a practice she had considerable experience in herself. 

“Some things…feel too hard,” she ventured. “To talk about. The words exist, but saying them feels…wrong. Like cutting yourself, just so people can stand around and watch you bleed.”

“Yes!” Buffy blurted, leaning forward towards Faith with her eyes brightening in relief at Faith’s understanding. Flushing slightly as she realized how loudly she had spoken, she settled back, tucking her heels beneath herself in a somewhat kneeling pose on the bed as she continued.

“I mean, yeah, that’s kind of how it feels. Everyone says it will help you, but it feels like it only hurts, and no matter what they say, all they can really do is stand around and not know what to do to stop it.”

She paused, her eyes lowering, and Faith saw her hands clinch, then unclench in her lap, as she seemed to be debating an inner battle. Eventually Buffy released a quiet breath, raising her eyes to Faith with a tilting up of her chin that told the other woman she had made the decision she was struggling with.

“You know, after our mom…after, Dawn actually thought that I didn’t care about what had happened to her. Because I didn’t…because I couldn’t cry, for a while. She actually said…she said I was just going about my life like nothing had happened, like it was just an…an inconvenience to me.” 

Faith heard the soft swallow before Buffy spoke the word “inconvenience,” the way she almost choked on the word, and she saw the shimmer of what could have been unshed tears coming to her eyes before she blinked them back. Almost reflexively she too swallowed, her jaw tensing against an echo of emotion she had buried so long ago and so many times over, and almost without her awareness her head inclined again in a faint nod.

“That’s how I felt,” she said, her words hoarse to her own ears, sounding distant from her body even as she felt very much aware of Buffy’s presence in front of her, of every small gesture and noise the woman made. “With my mom. Only I never cried, not once. Isn’t that…isn’t that fucked up, not crying over your own mom dying?”

A bitter laugh emerged from her, though there was nothing about this conversation that Faith found funny. Faith shook her head at herself, her jaw tightening further as her teeth clinched just hard enough for a jolt of pain to reach up to her ears. 

She expected Buffy to say something in denial or maybe reassurance of her rhetorical question, something to sway her away from her words. Something to brush them away, no matter what their truth might be. She would have, years before, even if she was trying to be sympathetic or understanding, and whatever she might have said would have been wrong.

But now Buffy said nothing, perhaps understanding that there were no words that would be right or needed. Now, Buffy just listened. She regarded Faith steadily, neither nodding nor shaking her head, but making clear with the thoughtful tilt of her head and the focus of her gaze that she was listening, taking her words in. There was no judgment in her expression, no strained effort at an emotion she did not feel, and this more than any words brought a rush of relief over Faith that began to unfurl some of the knots drawing up her neck and spine.

When Buffy stood up from her bed, Faith remained still, neither flinching nor tensing in uncertainty of the woman’s intention. She waited, just waited, and was not wholly unsurprised when Buffy slowly settled herself beside her on her bed, a distance of perhaps two inches or less remaining in between them. Buffy tucked one of her legs under herself, bracing herself on the bed with one hand behind her, and half turned to face Faith. The mattress dipped inward slightly despite the lightness of her weight, and the couple of inches in between them became zero as Buffy’s knee settled gently against Faith’s thigh. 

Neither woman spoke for several more moments, simply sitting together, the sparseness of the not quite accidental, not quite deliberate contact between them seeming to say something that neither could have labeled in words. When Buffy’s hand slowly came forward, her cool fingers placing gentle pressure against Faith’s leg just above her knee, the added touch seemed almost unnecessary, but Faith could not have said it was unwelcome or unwanted. In fact, her own fingers gave a slight twitch, lifting slightly from her leg in an impulse to cover Buffy’s hand with hers before Faith flattened them again. Then, remembering the openness of Buffy’s feelings in her eyes, directed her way, the way that she had come to Faith, uninvited, on more than a few levels now, making herself vulnerable and open to rejection or hurt, Faith took a breath and lifted her hand up again, lowering it to cover Buffy’s. It didn’t seem so hard to Faith, then, when Buffy’s hand turned slightly, to open up her fingers, allowing them to twine together in hers. 

“People tried to head-shrink me about it, for a while,” Faith said after several minutes of quiet, her voice steady now, even holding a note of sarcasm that felt much needed to her in the moment. “Even my Watcher, when I first came. Telling me all that counselor shit about how all my feelings are okay and normal and I should give myself “permission” to grieve how I want. Joke was on them, the grieving I wanted involved less in the way of crying and balloon messages and therapy and more in the way of going out and getting drunk and screwing a bunch of people that didn’t know me or want to know me. Funny how all my “okay, normal feelings and grieving” turned out not to be so okay if they weren’t on the adult approved list.” She laughed, slightly less dark in tone than before, distracted as much by the intense attention Buffy was directing towards her as the contact of their hands and legs. “All bullshit. You ask me, there is no point about talking about people when they’re gone, at least for me. It isn’t like any of that will ever happen again, or like they’ll have anything new to ever say to you. They’re gone, forever, so what is there to say about it?”

The words had barely left her mouth before she remembered who she was talking to, and just how differently or even offensively Buffy might view her words. Faith’s eyes widened, and she straightened her spine, her hand slacking enough to almost slide out of Buffy’s as she turned to face her more directly. 

“Hey, I’m sorry, Buffy. It was different for you and your mom, I don’t mean it like that, not for you. Your mom was…you probably want to…forget it, I’m sorry.”

But Buffy didn’t look offended, or upset. Though she was frowning at Faith, it seemed to be from curiosity, effort to understand, more than from anger. 

“No, you can’t change anything,” she said quietly. “But there’s still plenty to be said about anyone, whoever they were, and whether or not they’re still here. I know things were different, even if I won’t ever understand how it was for you, personally. Your past is over, and maybe your experiences with your mother are too, but your memories don’t have to be, if you don’t want them to be. Good or bad, memories can be an important part of what made us who we are.”

“Mine are better off forgotten,” Faith muttered, the smile she attempted to give Buffy somewhat twisted and lacking sincere warmth. “Trust me. Most of my memories won’t do anything but drag me down, and what I need in my life is full steam ahead, all the way.”

Buffy didn’t argue with her further. Instead she scooted herself closer on the bed, closing what distance remained between, so that the length of their legs and most of their upper bodies came into contact. She let her body lean against Faith, lightly at first, then more fully, until Faith, hesitant, heart thumping, recognized and followed through on the wordless invitation to slide her arm around Buffy’s waist to draw her further in.

For several minutes the women did not speak, simply resting against each other in a loose but comforting embrace. Buffy’s head rested against Faith’s shoulder, and Faith leaned her cheek against its crown, breathing in the smell of her coconut-scented shampoo. She let her fingertips trace a slow circle against Buffy’s hipbone, fighting the urge to let her fingers wander. Buffy’s hand remained on Faith’s leg, her fingers now warm from the prolonged contact of the heat of Faith’s body. 

The physical sensation of simply sitting so close to someone, holding and being held by them, without imminent death, sex, suicidal or homicidal intent, or some kind of manipulation being a part of the deal was not one Faith had commonly experienced…hell, it had taken her a while to even get used to the Scoobies and the junior Slayers, with their tendency to hug hello and goodbye seemingly every time someone walked in or out a door. But even with them, Faith had never had the experience of someone giving her such a prolonged gesture of affection, for no reason that she could understand besides simply wanting to do it, without any seeming expectation from Faith in return. 

But what Faith struggled to understand was that as new as this was to her, it didn’t feel strange or awkward. It felt comfortable, comforting, the uncertainty and tension she had harbored fading away the closer her body and Buffy’s drew in to each other. It felt right, in the way that she and Buffy slaying together, having each other’s back in battle, had always felt right. It felt…the word seemed stupid, even to her own thoughts, but what came into Faith’s mind was that it felt like destiny, almost a quiet declaration of being chosen once more.

She was so relaxed, so drawn into a state of ease that even when Buffy finally broke the silence, even the other Slayer’s sobering words did not draw her back into a state of tension once again, and she noticed that Buffy too felt loose and calm beside her.

“Do you think that’s what happened to that girl?” she asked, her words slow and soft enough in tone to nearly be a murmur. “The Slayer one. Do you think….with what she’s doing…that she’s been through something horrible, something so terrible that it’s made her into what she is?”

“You mean, make her into someone like me,” Faith rephrased, her eyes shifting down towards Buffy to regard her. “Someone like I was.”

There was no bitterness or edge to her tone, just a calm labeling of things as she saw them. When Buffy started to lift her head from Faith’s shoulder, squirming as though in an effort to look up at her face, Faith pressed it back down gently, giving her waist a light squeeze to settle her back. 

“No, it’s cool, B. I know who I was, there’s no point in going delicate on me.” 

She sighed, the hand not resting against Buffy’s side lifting and turning palms up.

“My guess is yeah, she has. I mean, how old is eighth grade, thirteen, fourteen? Maybe twelve if she’s a genius or fifteen if she’s slow. How many kids that age are murdering little kids, Slayer or not? What would it have taken to drive you into killing, a decade ago?”

Buffy’s brow furrowed faintly as she considered, her eyes glazing slightly. Faith knew she was picturing herself as a middle schooler, and she suppressed a smile at her own mental image of Buffy in sneakers and braces, maybe even glasses, before her days of makeup, highlights in her hair, and carefully plucked eyebrows. 

“I would have had to be very scared,” she said thoughtfully. “For myself, or for people I loved. And it would have taken a lot to get me to the point of being that scared, to cross a line that serious. I think it must take a lot for someone to get comfortable with murder.”

“Yes,” Faith nodded, her answer quiet. She didn’t want to draw the conversation to herself or their past, but it was difficult not to, given the topic at hand. “The first time, maybe it’s a kill or be killed thing, or maybe it’s an accident, but it’s easy, the doing. After, that’s when it’s hard, when you think you can never do it again. But you’re wrong. It’s easier, the next time, if you’re scared enough, or hurt enough. And then it just…it stops feeling wrong.”

She exhaled, licking her lips unconsciously. “But it takes a lot to get to that point. And my guess is, it’s taken a lot for her to get to be like this. For…what’s her name? Vera?”

“Verity,” Buffy corrected, “Verity Catlett. Weird, isn’t it?”

When Faith drew apart slightly, just enough to give her a stare heavy in irony, Buffy cracked a smile.

“Okay, point taken, I have no room. But that happens to be one of the very few SAT words I remember from high school, it means truth. So, ironic much?”

“The fuck?” Faith mused aloud, chuckling. “That name’s worse than mine. Almost as bad as yours.”

Buffy elbowed her lightly, grunting mostly put on indignation. Faith grinned, not bothering to fend her off. 

“Yeah, that’s stupid. Can’t call her V, that’s just gonna make me think virginity and I’m not even going down that road of thought with a kid that young. Too close to Vi, anyway. Her last name’s Catlett, Kitty’s as good a name for her as any. Kitty it is.”

“You’re going to call a serial killer Kitty?” Buffy deadpanned, eyebrows arched, and Faith nodded, satisfied with the decision.

“Yep. Sounds good to me.”

Buffy shook her head again, rolling her eyes, but there was still a hint of a smile curling her lips. Faith smiled back, but grew serious quickly as she met Buffy’s eyes, her arm still lightly curved around her.

“We’re gonna find her, Buffy. And we’re gonna try to help her. She’s too damn young for this kind of life. We have to stop her, obviously, but we have to try to help her, too.”

Buffy’s smile faded, and she watched Faith, seeming to be searching for something in her face.

“The way we didn’t help you,” she said quietly. 

The words were a statement, not a question or a judgment, but Faith shifted, uncomfortable, all the same. 

“You tried.”

“Not enough,” Buffy countered.

This too was said without anger or defensiveness, either towards herself or towards Faith, just a labeling of the situation as Buffy now viewed it. It wasn’t something they had spoken of since Sunnydale, and even then, it had been only in the most roundabout and baiting of ways. Faith was not used to this view, for others, especially Buffy, taking any level of responsibility for her own wrong actions, and she wasn’t sure how to take it now. 

“Well, I didn’t exactly roll out the welcome mat for your trying. Look, it doesn’t matter anymore-“

“But it does, Faith,” Buffy interrupted, still quiet, but firm. “It does. There are never excuses for what happened then, but I’m sure there were reasons.”

She was right, of course. There were reasons for Faith’s choices, all of them probably valid enough, none of them ones Faith wanted to talk about or offer up in explanation or in hopes of forgiveness that should only be earned. There was her lifetime of poverty and repeated rejections, neglect, corporal punishment crossing the line to physical abuse at times and sexual harassment sometimes bordering or maybe even qualifying as abuse. There were her repeated experiences of the death and abandonment of parental figures and guardians, from her father to her mother to her watcher, followed up by the betrayal of her false watcher Gwendolyn Post in Sunnydale. There was the guilt of her watcher’s murder, her falling away from anything resembling an education or prospects for legal employment, and a series of roofs over her head that never could be counted as homes. There was the painful knowledge that no matter where she was and who she was with, she didn’t quite fit in, neither in the world of normal humans or in Buffy’s world of the supernatural. There was the lack of full acceptance, of feeling valued, and the confusing and unrequited feelings for Buffy mixed in with a threat of an even more devastating placement in prison, once the death of the deputy mayor happened. Add in the Mayor’s warmth and approval of her, even as he used her, the pain she felt from Buffy’s judgment, and her own feelings of love for the Mayor, and there had seemed no other options for Faith at the time then the very choices that she made.

Nothing she had done then would ever be okay, even if she had the hindsight and additional maturity now to understand more fully how things had truly been. But Buffy had been right in saying she’d had her reasons. 

Even so, Faith shook her head, pushing them all aside. She would not acknowledge them, nor allow Buffy to use them to give her any kind of slack. She was above pity or free passes. 

Pulling gently out of contact with Buffy, she turned herself to look at her squarely, keeping their bodies slightly separated. She didn’t want any touch between them to sway either from understanding what she needed to say.

“I want you to see me clearly, Buffy,” she said, holding the other woman’s eyes with hers. “Both who I am and who I was. And the same for Verity Catlett. Don’t make her out to be worse than me, whether she is or she isn’t, it doesn’t matter. She’s still a kid, still a Slayer, and still needs to be stopped. And helped, if she lets us. But don’t underestimate her. Make excuses for me then, and you’ll make excuses for her now.” 

Buffy looked back at her evenly, her expression unchanged. 

“I will see her, Faith,” she told her. “I do see her. But I see you, too.”

She paused, shifting slightly closer, bringing their legs back into contact once more. Faith swallowed, eyes shifting down, but didn’t move away.

“I didn’t see you then,” Buffy continued. “I saw what you did, Faith, and what happened as a result. But I didn’t see why. I didn’t want to, I think. It was…it made things more complicated, more ambiguous, and I wanted things to be easy. Black and white, right or wrong. But that isn’t life, even the life of a Slayer. And it isn’t me, anymore, if it ever was. So, it’s okay to me now that it isn’t you, either.”

She rubbed her thumb slowly, carefully rubbing over the skin of Faith’s leg, just above her knee. Faith suppressed a shiver, eyes fixated on the other woman’s callused hand against her flesh, until a slight shift to Buffy’s tone made her lift her face to watch her instead. 

“I want to know you now, Faith. I want you to know me….who I really am, too. Will you…will you let me?”

There was a subtle catch in her voice, a slight hitching that Faith nevertheless did not miss. Buffy was nervous of her response to her; in fact, when Faith focused her ears, she could hear the rapid thud of her heartbeat, betraying the other woman’s tension. Still, her hand on Faith’s leg remained light in its pressure, stroking rather than really pressing down, and Buffy kept her eyes steady on Faith, waiting for her to respond in her own time.

Faith’s own heart rivaled Buffy’s in the tempo of its beats, and her muscles felt tight enough to threaten to tear with the slightest movement. But whatever she felt, however much she might fear, there could be only one answer for Buffy. How could she reject her, when Buffy held out her heart to her, trusting Faith to keep it safe in her blood-stained hands? How could she deny her, when this was the moment Faith had longed for and long before given up on becoming anything close to reality?

So she covered Buffy’s hand with hers once more, stilling its slight movement beneath her fingers, and reached out with her other to glide trembling fingers down the curve of Buffy’s cheek. As Buffy inhaled, her lips parting slightly at their seam, Faith closed her eyes, took a breath, and leaned in, bridging the few inches of space between them that still remained.

As their lips met for the first time, a nearly electrical sensation pulsed through Faith, jarring down her spine and setting her nerves alight and alert. She felt Buffy gasp against her mouth and sensed that Buffy felt it too, the strange, exhilarating charge of energy from their newly heightened intimacy of contact. Anxiety, fear, even doubt fell away from Faith in a rush that left her feeling lighter, almost dizzy with pleasure, and she slid her hand up through Buffy’s hair, twining her fingers through as she deepened the intensity of the kiss, parting Buffy’s lips and stroking her tongue with her own.

The vibration of Buffy’s moan into her mouth made Faith flush, and she scratched her nails lightly against Buffy’s scalp, letting them drag down to the nape of her neck. The hand on Faith’s leg was soon joined by another as Buffy mimicked the scratching of Faith’s nails, her own nails leaving white lines down the pale skin of Faith’s thighs. Faith gasped, startled, when Buffy bit down on the plumpest part of Faith’s lower lip, then slid her hands over her hips and around her waist. Buffy hooked her hands together to pull Faith up off the bed, just enough to urge Faith’s body into straddling her thighs. 

Faith was hardly reluctant to be guided, nor was she adverse to being atop Buffy, gripping her thighs in hers as she pressed her chest flush against the blonde’s. She ground herself against Buffy, continuing to kiss her in long, urgent gestures, barely taking the time to occasionally suck in a breath. As Buffy’s hands cupped the curve of Faith’s ass, partly to support her, partly feeling her up, Faith arched her back in response, sputtering out an exclamation of arousal. 

Buffy had always been hot, that was a given. But when the hell had she reached this level of scorching?

Had Buffy made the move, Faith would have done whatever it took for them both to come, twelve times over. Dry hump, clothes on, off, or some state in between, it wouldn’t have mattered, she was on board, all the way, and more than halfway there already. But with a final thrust of her hips, a squeezing of Faith’s backside, and a deep breath against her lips, Buffy pulled back, putting a slight amount of space in between them once more. As Faith leaned in automatically, her body seeking to reconnect them, Buffy, breathing heavily, took her hands in hers, giving them a squeeze that sought to reassure even as it held them still. 

“We-we should stop,” she stuttered, still breathless, chest rising and falling rapidly with her efforts to regain some sort of composure. “H-hold off a bit.”

“Huh….?” Was all Faith’s brain, stunned stupid by the stimulation, could manage to form as a response. She remained half hunched on Buffy’s lap, letting the other woman keep her from further touch, as Buffy swallowed and seemed to search for words to explain. 

“We…I want this, Faith,” she managed, squeezing Faith’s hands for emphasis as she nodded down at their still-heaving chests and the twitching muscles of their inner thighs. “Believe me, I really, really do. But…we should, I should know you first. You, then your body. The other way around…it gets, things get confusing, and twisted, and…I don’t want that again. Okay?”

It was what Buffy wanted, or said she wanted, so of course it was okay. It wasn’t like Faith was going to argue, she wasn’t that kind of asshole, even if she was other kinds. And it probably did make sense, what she was saying, even if her brain was still too overridden with hormones to reason it all the way through. 

“O-okay,” she breathed, swallowing hard and attempting to slow her breathing. “Okay.”

“Soon,” Buffy promised, leaning in to give Faith a soft peck of a kiss on her cheek, then against her lips just light and fast enough that Faith didn’t have time to return it. “Soon, Faith. No for now, not for forever.”

Faith nodded, more because she heard the words than because she was taking them fully in. She slid herself off of Buffy, pulling her hands out of her grasp, and started to stand on shaky legs, intending to walk back to her own bed across from Buffy’s, but Buffy’s hand on her wrist stopped her.

“Wait, Faith, where are you going?”

Faith frowned, confused, nodding her head towards the other bed. “You said-“

“I said…I said we should pause,” Buffy clarified, a smile in her words as well as slipping over her lips. “Like, come to a stopping point. Not reverse, rewind, and undo.”

When Faith just stared at her, blank-faced, Buffy gave her wrist a gentle tug, then released it, pushing back the blankets and settling herself beneath. Scooting over so there was enough space in the bed for another person beside her, she touched the mattress, tilting her head towards the other woman.

“Stay, Faith. If you want to, that is.”

It wasn’t a first for them; Faith had shared a bed with Buffy before, after Sunnydale, both with carefully erected physical boundaries in between them and while curled close, hands entwined in seeking of comfort in their sleep. But although it wasn’t an unprecedented event to occur, Faith nevertheless was aware of some inner boundary between them being broken down as she slowly climbed in bed beside Buffy and felt the woman’s arms draw her close, her blonde head coming to rest against Faith’s chest. And as Faith wrapped an arm around Buffy, closing her eyes, she was dimly aware of a strange peace settle over her, regardless of what losses and liabilities they had experienced in the day.


	16. Chapter 16

Faith had learned to sleep soundly during her time in prison. It would have been a rough three years if she hadn't, as there was always considerable noise all around her that could have been very distracting from her ability to rest. With the open layout of the cells, she had grown accustomed to hearing other women constantly coughing, snoring, farting, crying, and squeaking their mattresses in sleep. The footsteps and barked reprimands of guards, muffled moans from masturbators and dubiously consensual sex, and the occasional outbreak of fighting had all become white noise to her, an easy, unremarkable background she could tune out to whenever she wished.

That didn't mean she was stupid enough to relax enough to sleep without any kind of self protection. In prison, Faith had trained herself to sleep curled into a ball, protecting her chest, stomach, and crotch from possible attacks, and she always faced out towards the cell's opening rather than allowing her back to be a target. She had learned before she "earned" herself a private cell that not all cell mates were interested in keeping their distance, and whether it was murder or rape they had in mind, she didn't want to be unprepared if she were suddenly startled out of sleep to find out.

Whatever the danger sleep sometimes posed, it had nevertheless been Faith's favorite part of the day, and after the first month she slept hard and slept well, whatever the noise level around her. Sleep time meant she had survived one more day in prison, that she was that much closer to inching her way towards some sort of redemption.

But once Wesley came to request she break herself out, over six months back, Faith had found that she could no longer enjoy the long, sound stretches of sleep that she had in prison. Not only because the amount of time she actually had on her hands for sleeping was severely limited, what with the multiple apocalypses requesting her services to prevent, but also because she just couldn't seem to fully let her mind or body relax, no matter how tired they might be. Her sleep as a free woman was lighter, broken up in short stretches of time, and never seemed fully restful. Something about her nights outside of prison always seemed wrong, maybe because her resting place seemed to change so often from night to night and place to place that she was staying, until she settled at last at Dormer and Merrick Academy.

Even there, she didn't really enjoy sleep the way she had in prison. It was always too quiet, or a different sort of noise than she was used to. The sleep habits and chatter of teenaged girls, no matter how many were gathered in the same room, just couldn't compare to those of prison inmates.

As a result, Faith had slept lightly, for the past six months, and grown accustomed to it enough to hardly notice the shift. So when she awakened in the hotel room with Buffy the night after the confrontation with Verity Catlett, she was astonished to look at the digital alarm clock beside their shared bed and realize that a full nine hours had passed without her stirring. And as she mentally scanned her body for any lingering pains or weariness from the previous night, she was further startled to realize she felt nothing but a sense of calm restfulness.

Buffy's arms were still loosely thrown over Faith's waist, her head tilted down to her shoulder, and strands of her blonde hair tickled Faith's cheek. Faith remained still, not wanting to awaken her if Buffy were still sleeping. It didn't suck, having the other Slayer's lithe warm body so close, her skin soaking in the steady puff of Buffy's breaths. Hell, it felt good…really good. What was it about Buffy Summers that made even sharing a bed with her, their bodies overlapping, feel like some sort of personal bliss?

She remembered the passion of their kissing the night before, the way their hands had wandered as though taking on their own lives, before Buffy set her foot down about any further crossing of sexual or physical boundaries. What would Buffy think now, in the light of day and with more distance and time from the shock of the cemetery events?

Faith shifted her eyes to the woman's face, trying to catch a glimpse of her expression to see if she were awake. Despite her efforts for care she jostled them both slightly, and Buffy's eyes opened, meeting Faith's with a wry smile. The lines of face were calm, even content as Faith assessed got the feeling that she had been awake, even though she had not opened her eyes before.

She didn't see regret or shame in Buffy's eyes. Still, Faith's voice was tentative when she addressed her.

"Hey, B."

Buffy's smile softened, and she made no move to move away from the loose embrace she and Faith remained in, not so much as shifting the positioning of her arms.

"Hey, Faith."

Faith felt the urge to stroke back Buffy's hair, to tuck it behind her ears in a tender gesture or lean in to kiss the smooth skin of her forehead. But that all felt weirdly possessive or presumptuous, at least at the moment, and she felt shy about her impulse, even with the softness of Buffy's she smiled back at her, registering that although she hadn't yet made an effort to pull away, neither had Buffy.

Buffy yawned, eyes briefly closing, and buried her face against Faith's shoulder with a loud exhalation. Faith held still, one hand twitching as she tried to decide whether to lift it to rub Buffy's back, but the moment was lost when Buffy pulled away from her slightly, rolling over onto her back. They were still close, hip to hip and shoulder to shoulder, and Buffy still had an arm loosely around Faith's shoulders in her new position. Turning her head slightly to the side, she addressed Faith, a look of focus and resolve that Faith was very familiar with now settled over her expression.

"So, big day today."

To Faith, at least, the moment between them was drawing to a close. Buffy was right, there was a lot to focus on, and as much as she might wish otherwise, this new-but-not-really thing going on between them was going to have to wait.

"Right," she sighed. "Catch a killer, stop more murders. Which reminds me…"

Gently she untangled herself fully from Buffy, grinning when she saw the slight pout Buffy directed her way as she was left on the bed alone.

"Gotta call it in, like you said last night," Faith explained. "Giles and Willow and probably half the rest of them are gonna end up teleporting someone after us or something if I keep them waiting much longer with an update on our status. I bet I've got a thousand messages waiting on me already."

She couldn't resist it. Before she stood, she leaned in to kiss Buffy's pouting lips, then covered the sappy gesture with a playful tug of her hair before reaching for her phone and unlocking it. As she had guessed, she had missed several voicemails and calls- why Giles refused to use text she didn't know, probably the same reason he refused to use computers. Rolling her eyes, she called him back, mouthing his name towards Buffy.

It took several rings for Giles's voice to appear over the line. Faith suspected that something like Angel, he struggled with technology enough that just answering a phone not stabled to a wall or attached to a cord taxed his knowledge of its use.

"Hello, Faith? You missed your check in yesterday, we were waiting for your or Buffy's call."

"Yeah, got a little tied up, sorry," Faith explained. She sat beside Buffy on the bed again, close but no longer touching. Any further contact with her would definitely distract her from any kind of conversation.

"Well, that's quite all right, Faith, but please do remember in the future to let that be made known. You are both all right, I assume?"

Faith glanced at Buffy, taking in the relaxed set of her shoulders and the calm neutrality of her expression, before responding.

"Yeah, we're both , Giles, there kind of a situation last night, that's why I got off schedule on the check ins."

Faith explained to him, with as much brevity as possible while still including the necessary details, what had taken place in the cemetery, as well as the suspected identity of the murdering Slayer. When Buffy lay a gentle hand on her leg midway through the conversation, Faith startled slightly, then relaxed, realizing it was a gesture of support. She finished with only a barely detectable stammer interrupting her summary.

She heard Giles's heavy sigh on the line as he took in her words. "I see. Well, you have made contact with the perpetrator of the murders, and it appears to be the case that they are in fact committed by an underage Slayer, as you suspected, Faith. And as Kennedy did," he added as an afterthought, the faint discomfort in his tone giving Faith some grim amusement. She knew that he found the girl even more obnoxious at times than she did.

"Yeah, pretty much," she acknowledged. "I know what you're thinking, we screwed up, lost some lives yesterday that should have been saved-"

"Faith, I was thinking nothing of the sort," Giles protested, sounding genuinely taken aback. "You and Buffy were caught off guard in a situation you could not have predicted. It sounds as though you made every effort to preserve the victim's life and safety-"

"A little girl's life, not a victim's," Faith corrected, hearing the hard edge to her tone and having to take a breath to soften it. "She shouldn't have been a victim. Neither of them should have. We fell down on the job, every effort wasn't good enough. But we'll end this. We're going to do what we came to do, and we won't let any more failures happen."

She felt Buffy's hand squeeze her leg, perhaps in warning for her to calm down, perhaps in an effort of comfort. She could sense the other Slayer's eyes watching her expression, but Faith didn't meet her steady gaze. Her grip on the phone tightened enough that she had to readjust her hand to keep it from breaking as she listened to Giles's response to her.

"Very well, Faith. What is your plan for action? Should I send another Slayer as back up, or is there any other help we can provide you from here?"

Faith's gaze did meet Buffy's then, and she took in the resolve she saw in their depths, the determined strength in the set of her jaw. She was still looking at her as she answered Giles's question.

"No need for back up. I have Buffy. That's all I need."

She kept eye contact just long enough to see Buffy smile before refocusing on the conversation.

"And the Slayer, you believe her name to be Verity Catlett-" Giles was saying. "Spell that for me, please, as well as the name of her school. I will have Willow bring forth any information or documentation on the Slayer that she can find and send it your way- er, I suppose in some sort of electronic fashion, however she thinks best."

Faith smirked, wondering if Giles's preferred method of sending would have been more along the lines of horseback or telegram, as she complied. She could hear him writing her answer before he cleared his throat, continuing his questioning.

"And when you do apprehend the Slayer in question, Faith. What is your plan for the manner in which she will be dealt with?"

Faith blinked, slightly thrown. As reasonable as the question was, she hadn't expected it, at least not until the girl was actually in her custody. And why the hell hadn't she, considering that it was half the job she had been sent off to do, and it was the very same dilemma that Giles and the others had faced on her behalf four years back?

"Dealt with?" she stalled.

She noticed that Buffy appeared to be listening even more closely to her answer. But she didn't yet have one to give. How could she, when she didn't yet know or have even the most basic understanding of the girl they were dealing with?

It was just as she'd said to Kennedy, before all this had even really started. She didn't know what Verity Catlett was capable of, what she might have already done, and what connections she might have had. She didn't know her past or even what her present life consisted of. She didn't know if any part of her was conflicted or feeling trapped in her own choices, if she were wanting help or what sort of help she might need. She didn't know if she were capable of giving it to her, even if the girl asked outright. How could she have a plan, when she didn't have any sort of facts to plan with?

Of course, the ideal outcome would be for her to find and stop Verity Catlett from ever harming a human being again, all while being able to avoid harming her in the process. The best possible thing to happen would be that Verity, like Faith herself, would realize and repent of her actions, that Faith and anyone else Verity would allow would be able to help her start to change and atone.

But how that would happen would depend on who Verity Catlett was and who she wanted to become. And there was not yet enough information to know if it was something that was possible…but Faith could not believe that was not the case. No matter what the girl had done, it had to be possible that she, like Faith herself, could turn away from it. She was too young to even consider otherwise.

"Capture her, subdue her, and bring her back to Merrick and Dormer, keep her restrained or sedated if we have to, I guess, until we can figure out what we need to do to rehabilitate her," she said finally. "I don't have all the details spelled out yet, Giles, all right? This is kind of a fly by night thing at the moment."

"I understand, Faith," Giles assured her. She could just picture him, removing his glasses and carefully cleaning them with the collar of his shirt as he frowned in thought. "But I do advise you to show caution, regardless of how the details fall into place. There are many aspects of this particular situation that could cause great difficulty if things go wrongly, beyond the threat that the Slayer herself may pose. With Slayers whom are underage, as it appears that this girl is, a simple "capture," as you put it, poses significant risk in and of itself. A well formed plan is a must."

Faith exhaled, knowing he was right, but irritated that he felt the need to spell it out to her as though she didn't. Buffy raised an eyebrow but gave a smile of understanding, no doubt having been in her place far more when it came to Giles's lectures.

"I get it, G. You grab a kid in public, chain her up or knock her out, and all the good Samaritan types start asking questions, calling in the cops, etc. We'll obviously go for something a little more subtle than that if possible."

"Well, yes, of course, Faith, but there is also the matter of her parents," Giles acknowledged. "If the girl is as young as you have described, still not yet of high school age, then she certainly must be living with parents or guardians of some sort. If she simply vanishes, without their knowledge of whom she is with and for what purpose, surely they would raise an alarm. She could be advertised as a missing person, perhaps on a broad national level, if she is a child of some means. That would certainly do nothing to aid our work with her, whether she is willing to be rehabilitated or not."

This was not something Faith had considered either. She looked over at Buffy, pretty sure Buffy's furrowed brow mirrored her own as they thought through the ideas he was bringing to light.

"We need to know if her parents realize she's a Slayer," Buffy murmured, not loudly enough for Giles to hear. "She could be hiding it from them. She might not even realize herself, if she doesn't have a Watcher. And if she does…"

She trailed off, but Faith understand what she was thinking. Any Watcher that had trailed Verity Catlett had obviously failed massively, given her chosen night time escapades. That, or else he or she was actively encouraging her to murder- another version, perhaps, of Faith's mentoring from the Mayor. Could it be possible that her Watcher, maybe even her parents, were aware of what Verity had been doing?

"It may be necessary for her parents to be informed of Verity's status as a Slayer, as well as the crimes she has committed," Giles continued. "It would be much easier to work with her and to take her into our care if her parents are aware and in approval of our assistance. It would also of course aid her rehabilitation if she has supportive family. If not, or if they by chance do not believe what they are informed of-"

"Not believe? We saw her kill with our own eyes, there's nothing to disbelieve," Faith broke in, some irritation in her tone. "And the girl can probably lift a car or something, we can prove that much."

"You'd be surprised how strong denial can run," Buffy mumbled, shaking her head. "Didn't anyone tell you that Mom didn't know I was the Slayer for almost three years, even after seeing vampires with her own eyes five or six times?"

"Faith, if this girl is as intelligent and sly as you have indicated, it is quite possible that no one has realized her true nature, whether as a Slayer or as a murderer," Giles countered. "Again, I only ask that you practice caution in how you approach and apprehend her, whatever her age. I trust your judgment, Faith, but do be watchful of your safety and your freedom, and of Buffy's as well."

Once, Faith would have been dumbstruck to hear Giles indicate any level of trust or approval of her, or even of concern for her. Even before her stint of the criminal lifestyle, she had thought he felt little more than bemusement, dismissal, or embarrassment towards her. It was becoming slowly more familiar to hear him indicate positive sentiments towards her, but it was still new and strange enough to her to cause a warmth of pride to settle in her chest. She cleared her throat, hoping Buffy didn't notice any change in her expression to be able to guess her inner response.

"Don't sweat it," she said, her voice somewhat gruff in an effort to keep her true feelings undetectable. "I wouldn't risk Buffy, not for anything."

"I understand, and I thank you," Giles said quietly. Faith could hear sincerity in his tone, and she understand what he did not also say- that he believed her.

"As for Buffy," he continued, somewhat more tentatively. "May I- may I speak with her, Faith? If she wishes, of course. And if she is present to do so."

Faith's eyes flitted to meet Buffy's, questioning. It sounded from the hesitance in which Giles had made his request as though he had been turned down before in talking to her, perhaps by Buffy herself. Just how long had it been since she actually accepted a phone call from the others, or since they had even made the attempt to get through?

Buffy's sandy eyebrows drew down towards her nose, but as apprehensive as she appeared to Faith, she nodded, giving her consent. Faith watched her, assessing, even as she answered Giles in his request.

"Yeah, she's here. Here she is now."

As she handed the phone to Buffy, she stood, jerking her head in the direction of the hotel's bathroom door.

"I'll just…give you your privacy, or whatever," she said under her breath. "Go get hygiened up for the day."

She heard Buffy telling Giles hello in an uncertain tone that Faith felt uncomfortable hearing from her. Even with everything that had happened since Sunnydale, it still seemed alien at times when she saw Buffy expressing anything but confidence in herself or her thoughts. Shutting the bathroom door behind herself in an effort to better ignore the conversation in the bedroom, she busied herself in brushing her teeth, washing her face, and applying her makeup, taking her time with it all. If Buffy wanted to tell her about whatever it was either of them had to say to each other, that was her business, but she wasn't about to snoop on her own.

Still, as she applied her makeup, she couldn't avoid seeing the dark, apprehensive look of her own eyes. The points that Giles had brought up were getting to her. How exactly were they going to get through to this girl? Hell, how were they going to get hold of her and keep her with them long enough to do so?


	17. Chapter 17

As she finished up with her routine, she let herself zone back in enough to listen for indications that Buffy’s conversation was continuing. When she didn’t hear her voice, she gave a knock as warning and eased the bathroom door back open, stepping through.

Buffy was dressed, her hair pulled back in a loose braid, eyes bright and focused as she scrolled through something she was reading on the phone. When she looked up, the quick smile she flashed at Faith drummed an answering response in the beat of Faith’s heart.

“Hey,” she greeted, giving Faith a nod of acknowledgement. “Willow’s still got it, when it comes to her research savvy. I don’t know if she used magic or just hacking skills, but she’s already sent us an email attachment with links and a summary of the information she’s found on Verity. There are some pictures she linked in of her as well, apparently from some newspaper articles and her Facebook page, so we know for sure that the Slayer’s name is definitely Verity Catlett. The backpack was hers, not the little girl’s.”

Faith had assumed as much; the victimized child hadn’t looked old enough to her to be in the eighth grade, but you could never tell, these days. Ten year olds looked fifteen and thirty year olds looked fifteen, so confirmation was probably necessary.

“She’s good,” she commented, referring to Willow. “Girl works fast. Kennedy’s a lucky little brat.”

When Buffy quirked an eyebrow, questioning, Faith explained her line of thought without taking the time to edit it first. “She’s been typing a million miles an hour for like, a decade, right? So her fingers, they’re that fast and flexible, imagine what she can do in bed. Plus with the magic added in? I bet Ken literally climbs the walls.”

“Faith!” Buffy exclaimed, flushing, her mouth open in scandalized astonishment, but then her lips twitched, and she covered her mouth, giggling. There was a mischievous, secretive glint to her eyes that made Faith narrow hers, cocking her head.

“Whoa, don’t tell me you have personal experience! You and Red-?”

“Oh, no, no, no,” Buffy said hurriedly, shaking her head with enough vehemence that the faint knot that had started to form in Faith’s stomach eased in relief. “No way, never. Never have, never will. But….one time, around the time Tara and Willow were staying over more, before they moved in full time? I did hear something in the room they were staying in, a moan, and it sounded…well, it sounded like the I’m getting killed kind, not the I’m having awesome sex kind, because it’s Sunnydale, right, you never know? So I had my stake, and I called out, but I guess they were too…busy…to hear. So I went to their room and I started to open the door, but…”

She started giggling again, her skin crimson, as Faith drew closer, impatient with her need to hear a story that sounded too good to miss out on knowing.

“What, obviously they were having sex, but what the hell were they doing?”

“Well,” Buffy gathered herself, clearing her throat, but her mouth couldn’t seem to settle out of its grin. “They were…sort of floating…so that comment about Kennedy climbing the walls…it’s probably not far off.”

Faith pictured this, a grin breaking out across her own face, and shook her head, giving an appreciative chuckle.

“Don’t know how and when Willow Rosenberg got so badass, but I gotta say I like it. So…back to the email thing…what all did she find out?”

Buffy handed over the phone, and Faith began to click and scroll through what she had been sent, reading over the information. Willow had managed to hack into Verity’s school records, and she focused on this first. Verity’s full name was listed as Verity Adrianna Catlett, and Faith noted that she had only one parent listed, Tanya Catlett. Perhaps she was a single parent, or a divorced one with a father uninvolved? Could this have impacted Verity, if the father were absent or abusive? 

She tried not to further analyze this; just because her own father had been and still was an inconsistent and often absent parent, and because Buffy’s was as well, didn’t mean that this was the case for Verity. 

Verity’s date of birth was listed as 4/13/99, making her thirteen years old. She was taking honors classes and making straight A’s in them, Faith noted to some disgust but little surprise. It had been pretty apparent from their brief meeting that the girl was hardly stupid. In fact, beyond her extra curricular activities of murder, Verity appeared to be a girl of many talents and interests, at least at surface level. She was in the beta club, something called Healthy Ventures, and chorus too. It looked like she was the type of kid or at least portrayed herself as the type of kid who Faith would have hated and avoided in her own school days, the kind of kid who all the teachers loved and who sneered at the kids who didn’t measure up to their golden standards. How the hell did a kid like that do the things Verity was doing? How did she keep up this double life of golden child and murderer, without losing her mind in the process?

She clicked on another few links and saw that Verity was a member of a church, a Catholic one, at that. There were some newspaper articles in which she was named, from announcements of honor roll students, local stories of students volunteering in nursing homes (a thought that made Faith shudder, thinking of Verity Catlett around old helpless people), and one announcing Verity’s baptism and confirmation in her church in the spring of last year. But two articles in particular caught Faith’s attention, and she read every word carefully.

Both were obituaries. The first was dated in the year that Verity would have been only four years old. It announced the death of four week old Mercy Julia Catlett, with the cause of death being listed as Sudden Infant Death Syndrome. Her survivors of grandparents, parents, and extended relatives were listed out- among them, Verity, as her sister. 

The second was dated to last year. The death announced was for Nathan Catlett, with the cause of death being attributed to complications from diabetes. Among Nathan’s survivors, Verity was again listed, this time as the deceased’s daughter. 

Faith considered this new information, her thoughts alight with the possible ways the deaths of two close family members may have impacted Verity’s development. For a child to lose first a sister, then a father before the age of thirteen was an enormous amount of trauma. Faith couldn’t know how Verity’s mother, Tanya, had responded to the deaths, but it was quite possible that she had become a neglectful or even abusive parent in the wake of her own trauma. Mental and emotional issues for both of them would have been difficult to avoid. Then for Verity to be called as a Slayer so soon after her father’s death…well, Faith could definitely understand how an angry, grieving girl given sudden, inhuman strength might use it to cause instead of prevent more violence. 

She clicked on Verity’s Facebook link and saw quickly that it was set to private; the only information she was able to see was her name, gender, and what profile pictures the girl had chosen. She was sure Willow could hack it, if she hadn’t already, but assumed that any useful information the witch would find, she would send. The second link, to Verity’s church, Faith could not see as being useful, but since Willow had included it, she clicked on it, quickly realizing as she scanned its home page what the woman had thought she would find interesting and helpful. 

“It has recently been determined that a very young member of our congregation has gone missing. We all pray for the safe return of Giabella Higgins to her family’s loving care. We pray also for her loved ones in this trying time.”

There was a picture of a little girl under the post, dressed in her first communion’s frilly white dress and veil and smiling awkwardly towards the camera. Faith recognized her immediately as the little girl that even now lay dead in the Rice Memorial Cemetery.

“Giabella,” she murmured aloud, some sadness mingled with the sarcasm of her tone. “Sounds like some kind of Italian mushroom or something. I swear, what is it with people picking stupid-ass names for their kids?”

Seeing Buffy’s raised eyebrow out the corner of her eye, she showed her the picture of Giabella. “Verity’s victim. They went to church together. Ironic much?”

“That, I did not see coming,” Buffy remarked, looking over the girl’s features. “Slayers overall, we go for the cross thing, but not so much the church. The church doesn’t seem to do much to help us out, historically. I’m pretty sure they thought some of us were witches, and not the harmless, helpful kind.”

“So, here’s what we’ve got,” Faith summarized, barely listening to her. “Verity Catlett, age 13. She goes to a private middle school, which means she’s probably rich, and she’s a member of a Catholic church, which means she’s from a family that at least puts on the front of a religious background.”

“So a family that’s traditional and conservative, or wants the world to see them that way,” Buffy surmised. “Which means either they’re suppressed and she’s in one hell of a rebellious state, or else they’re covering for something big.”

“Way to work your Intro to psych classes,” Faith nodded her approval towards Buffy, even as she smirked. “Interesting how a little rich Catholic kid is killing off prostitutes and druggies…so, either a major case of judging her neighbor, or else she’s smart enough to go for the people no one will miss.”

“But Giabella Higgins doesn’t fit that pattern, of prostitutes or drug addicts,” Buffy observed. “She was what, ten?”

“Right,” Faith acknowledged, thinking back. She pictured the irritation in Giabella’s face when she saw her and Buffy approach, the split second of calculation in her eyes before she made her move. “I don’t think she was setting out to kill her…I think she felt that we forced her hand. She didn’t expect us there, and maybe something about the situation with Giabella, she didn’t expect too. Maybe Giabella followed her out that night, caught her by surprise. Or maybe she was going to intimidate her into keeping quiet, but then when we saw her she thought Giabella might tell us everything. My guess is Giabella was a way of solving a problem of a possible loose end and distracting us from her escape, all at once. Two birds throwing a stone, or whatever.”

“So we’ve disrupted her pattern,” Buffy said slowly, one hand lifting to scratch the back of her neck as she too thought back, reassessing the situation from her own memories. “We took away some of her control of the outcome, when we showed up. She couldn’t’ be sure what we would do, or what Giabella would do with us there-“

“So she grabbed control back,” Faith said darkly. “This kid is damn smart, all right.”

“But not as smart as she thinks she is,” Buffy pointed out, nodding down at the phone still in Faith’s hand. “We still know who she is, where she goes to school and church, who her family is, even their address and phone number and some of their history. Give Willow enough time and we’ll probably have enough to write a biography.”

“All right,” Faith continued to think aloud, the beginnings of a plan beginning to fall into place in her thoughts. “Here’s what we’ll do. We’ll get her from the school- nice and calm, civilized, in a way where we look like the reasonable ones following the law, just going about our jobs like ordinary people. We’ll be…yes!” she said with some enthusiasm, as inspiration struck.

At Buffy’s curious look, she back pedaled, elaborating.

“We’re department of social services. Shit, everyone’s scared to death of them, especially schools. They might get sued if they missed out on signs, failure to report, right? So they’re hardly gonna deny DSS the right to remove a child from school that we say we need for questioning, or that we’re removing from her home for her own safety, especially if we say we need to investigate abuse that a school staff member called in. If we look like we know what we’re talking about, they’ll get out of the way and let anyone who says they need to take a kid to do whatever the hell they want. She’ll recognize us, but even if she kicks up a fuss or fights back, people will just assume she’s upset she’d being put in foster care.”

Buffy’s eyes lit up, though she was more cautious in her endorsement. “This sounds like it could work. But there’s details to work out, Faith. They’ll want to see IDs, work IDs, maybe even paperwork for Verity. If the security there is tight enough, they might even ask to speak with someone from DSS to confirm our identities-“

“So we give them Giles’s cell number, tell them it’s his direct line and this is a priority case,” Faith shrugged this off. “Who sounds more official than him? And Willow can whip us up fake credentials and IDs if we ask. Hell, she could probably make it appear in thin air if she wanted, or at least FedEx us some by tomorrow.”

Buffy nodded, seeming to find nothing wrong with these answers. When she stood up from the bed, she and Faith were only inches apart, a proximity that seemed closer still when she put her hands lightly on Faith’s shoulders and gave them an affectionate squeeze.

“I kinda like this take-charge Faith.”

Faith’s intended flippant answer got lost somewhere in her throat when Buffy slid her hands down to her hips, giving them a light squeeze as well. For a moment Faith thought she would draw her in, pelvis to pelvis, and start over where they had left off in their contact from the night before. But instead, even as she caught her breath, waiting, Buffy lifted a hand to brush against her cheek, then drew back.

“I’ll call Willow. Let’s do this.”

As she pulled back, taking from Faith’s hand the phone she had forgotten she was holding, Faith had to let out her breath in a slow, controlled manner to remind herself to refocus. Still, it took every ounce of will she had as Buffy turned partially away from her not to reach out and squeeze her backside, just to draw her back for more.

88

It was a good thing for Verity that she had discovered, around the time that she found herself developing unprecedented strength, that she could also go longer periods without sleep. The night of Giabella’s death, sleep was not a priority or something she had time to set aside for. The remaining hours of her evening had to be spent in serious planning, far more than she had anticipated if Giabella had remained alive.

In some ways, it was simpler, even preferable for the brat to be dead. She didn’t have to maintain a constant stream of communication with her, bucking up her nerve and reminding her of all the reasons it was within her best interests to follow Verity’s guidelines for her. She didn’t have to spend her time pretending she could actually tolerate or even like the girl when all she wanted was to grab her lips and twist them off her face, every time Giabella opened her mouth to speak. She didn’t have to concern herself with the possibility that Giabella would lose it entirely and tell on herself or Verity to whoever was near enough to listen, and she didn’t have to listen to her annoying, whiny voice or spend time with her anxious, doting parents, pretending to be the proper, innocent little playmate that they assumed her to be. In that way, it was a relief. She had vastly miscalculated how much fun it would be to corrupt Giabella, in comparison to how infuriating it would be to have to put in enough face to face time with her to accomplish it. 

But now the plan would have to be different, without her having decided it for herself, and that irritated Verity. She was used to being in charge, to making her own decisions and setting the guidelines, and for those fucking women to force her to make amendments to her plans without her consent was infuriating. Just who were they anyway, and where the hell did they get off on, appearing out of nowhere and yelping at her like some sort of unmasked cemetery vigilantes in the night?

And they had been fast, far faster than she would have thought possible for women that old. The brunette one had been quick enough in her pursuit of Verity that she had almost caught up to her. It was only because Verity refused to slow down or second guess the directions she chose in her flight that she had managed, just barely, to elude her. Still, she attributed her escape as much to her youth and familiarity with the area as to her skill, and that was not acceptable.

As she made her way back to her home, her mind churned and seethed with her rage and vengeful inner questions against the women of the cemetery, just as much as it wrestled with a new plan to attribute to Giabella’s sudden disappearance and death. Just as importantly as it was to establish her innocence in the matter, it was equally so for her to figure out just who those women were, what they had been doing, and what she needed to do to get her revenge against them for fucking up her careful plans.

88

Verity’s decision in how to manage Giabella’s “disappearance” was to go with the simplest explanation, the one least likely to contain details that would trip her up or reveal her own involvement. Once she had arrived back at her house, she slipped back into her bedroom through the already opened window, climbed back into bed, and simply pretended sleep. In the morning, when she was certain that she could hear her mother making coffee in the kitchen, she pretended to arise, padding downstairs to join her while making a show of rubbing her eyes. 

“Good morning, mom,” she greeted Tanya Catlett, giving her a loose hug around the waist. “Where’s Giabella? In the bathroom? Or did her parents already get her?”

From there, it was simple. Tanya, of course, had given her a confused looking, sharing her ignorance of the child’s whereabouts, and sent her daughter to go look for her. Verity’s “search” of course did not locate their house guest, and Tanya, once she joined her in calling and looking for the child both in and outside the house, quickly became concerned. Even more so when Verity “discovered” the open window in her bedroom.

“Mom, that wasn’t open when we went to sleep,” she worried, drawing her mother’s attention to it. “Do you think Giabella left last night, for some reason? She wouldn’t have gone out if someone asked her to…would she? She knows better than that…doesn’t she?”

Tanya Catlett had barely spoken to the child and knew no such thing. Verity’s voiced “ideas” lead to a call to Giabella’s parents, questioning whether they had received a call from their daughter to pick her up or whether the child had walked home on her own. Once the answer in the negative was established and the Higgins had been worked into a near frenzy of worry and fear for their daughter, both they and Tanya made calls to the local police, intent on reporting a missing child. 

Within an hour the Catlett home was now considered to be a possible crime scene. Police officers had searched the house and the property around it, taking careful consideration of the open bedroom window that Verity had again stated to have been closed at the time she “went to bed” with Giabella. Throughout their questioning she maintained her concerned, wide-eyed innocence for Giabella’s safety and possible whereabouts, and she was pretty sure from the grim looks the officers gave each other when they thought she wasn’t paying attention that they believed her to be every bit as ignorant as she proclaimed. 

She was also pretty sure they believed Giabella had been either lured out by a pedophile or by another, older kid. She had dropped a few “hints” to lead them in that direction, telling them about an older boy Giabella had said that thought she was sexy but wouldn’t tell her about in more detail, and the “weird” pictures Giabella had said he wanted her to send him. She knew Giabella didn’t have a phone, so they would have no way to prove or disprove this. 

By the time the police left, she was pleased with her own manipulations of their theories. The last place they were likely to look for Giabella now was a tiny remote cemetery, and by the time someone did stumble across her, her body would probably be old enough to confuse the investigation some more. 

She pretended reluctance to go to school, for her mother’s sake; it wouldn’t seem right for her to not show fear for her own safety and Giabella’s, or concern for how and why her own friend would disappear from her own bedroom. When Tanya told her, unconvincingly, that there was no point in her sitting around worrying , that she was certain this was all a misunderstanding and “her little friend” would turn up safe,” Verity had made her promise to call her with any news. She had gone to school the next day glowing inside, eager to hear if any of the other students had heard about the local missing girl and what version of her disappearance they believed.

However much it had screwed over her plans for those women to show up like they had, in the end, Verity decided she preferred this outcome. It was much more interesting overall.

88

Considering how much of her childhood and adolescence Faith had put energy and effort into avoiding drawing the attention of social services to herself, it was pretty ironic that she was now playing the part. She had never understood what would make a person want to have a job where breaking up families and nosing into other people’s child-rearing methods was considered all in a day’s work, and she regarded those who actually chose to with suspicion, wariness, and dread even to this day. Someone who wanted to barge in on people already in pain and cause them even more by breaking up their families was not someone she could ever understand, and she had always suspected social workers had a sadistic streak to take on that role. 

But now, of her own volition and due to her own planning, she was going to have to get herself into the mindset of a sadist social worker, at least long enough to look somewhat convincing. The first problem she discovered with the plan was her outfit. She had hardly packed the kind of clothes that would make her look convincing as a professional; jeans and tank tops just wouldn’t do it, badge or not. Buffy’s clothes were more acceptable, but although she offered up her packed clothing for Faith to borrow from, the ones she tried on were too snug on Faith’s curvier frame to look very office-appropriate. 

Faith was less enthused than Buffy when the other woman announced it was necessary for them to go on a shopping expedition, especially when she directed her to a nearby department store that Faith would normally not have voluntarily set foot in, let alone bought clothing from. She was pretty sure Buffy was getting far too much enjoyment from pointing out “professional” outfits that made her skin crawl to even look at- who knew pastel pantsuits were a thing? Eventually, though, she settled on a Buffy-approved white button-up blouse, a blazer, tailored pants, and “sensible” dress shoes. When Faith bought and dressed herself in them, she felt highly uncomfortable and restless, as though she had just put on another woman’s skin over her own. Even worse, Buffy insisted that Faith “do something” with her hair. 

“Do something? Like what, put bows in it? ‘Cause last I checked we’re going to a middle school as adult professionals, B, not trying to impersonate students,” Faith grumbled, but Buffy was persistent.

“Something other than let it hang down your back waving whatever direction it feels like. You need to wear it up, Faith, professional women have neatly styled hair.”

Faith looked Buffy’s hair over with narrowed eyes, begrudgingly acknowledging to herself that Buffy had a point. Buffy’s hair was neatly braided, with the few stubborn stray strands that threatened to come loose bobby pinned in place. 

“I’m not about to make myself your hair-twin, Buffy,” she muttered. “Can’t I be the rebellious social worker?”

The truth was, she didn’t actually know how to braid hair, or to do much of anything with it but brush it and let it be. Hair styling was hardly something she’d had an interest in learning on her own, and her mother had had better things to do than fix her daughter’s hair or teach Faith how to do so in her childhood years. 

“No such animal, we’re stick in the mud professionals and we have to look the part,” Buffy replied. “Turn around.”

“What, why?”

“Just turn around!”

Faith turned her back to her, bemused but not untrusting. When she felt gentle fingers in her hair, running through its strands gently to check for tangles, a tingling thrill of pleasure at Buffy’s attentive touch rolled through her scalp and settled in her chest. She held still, no longer caring that they were in public, in the middle of a very dull apartment store as Buffy brushed through her hair with her fingers, beginning to work it into something like a style. 

“Hold still,” Buffy directed absently as she held Faith’s hair in one hand, digging through her purse with the other. Her hand emerged with a package of bobby pins and a hair tie, and within minutes she had shaped Faith’s previously wildly waving hair into a reasonably neat bun, secured into place at the nape of her neck. She stepped back, then came around to face Faith, checking her own work. As Faith regarded her, self-conscious, Buffy broke into a sudden grin.

“What?” Faith demanded, reaching for Buffy’s purse in an attempt to search for a mirror. “What did you do to me?”

Buffy held the purse behind her back, fending her off with a snicker. “Don’t you touch your hair, not after all I did with it! Nothing, Faith, you look fine, relax.”

“Then why are you laughing at me?” Faith asked, eyes narrowed with suspicion as she crossed her arms over her chest, attempting to hide some of the blazer behind them. “What’s so damn funny, if you didn’t make me look like an idiot?”

“Nothing, Faith, I swear,” Buffy repeated, making an effort to smooth her face out into a more serious expression, but Faith could still see her lips twitching with a suppressed smile. “It’s just…I like the librarian look on you. Who’d have thought you could pull it off?”

“Oh,” Faith blinked, mollified. She flushed, but quickly recovered herself, rolling her eyes and uncrossing her arms with a straightening of her posture. “Well, of course. A body like this can make anything look hot.”

“Right,” Buffy arched an eyebrow, her tone sarcastic, but she was still smiling, and Faith posed for her playfully, pointing her nose up and her chest out.

“I look like an American, female Giles, new and improved version, right?”

She grinned at the scandalized look that erased all laughter from Buffy’s eyes. 

“What?! No, that’s a horrible, wrong, very disturbing thing to say!”

“Hey, you know the man’s kinda sexy for an old guy,” Faith needled, snickering at Buffy’s horrified expression. “I’m not scared to admit it.”

“I will vomit on your shoes,” Buffy warned, holding up both hands as though to ward Faith from any further speech. “I beg you to stop talking before you destroy any future possibilities of me being able to look at you without gagging.”

Faith circled behind Buffy, sliding her arm around her waist and pressing herself up against Buffy’s back. She felt the blonde’s heartbeat quicken beneath her arm, her breath briefly still, and she let her lips lightly touch the shell of her ear as she murmured against her skin.

“I don’t think there’s any danger of that ever happening, Buffy…and don’t worry. Ain’t no one on this earth ever gonna be sexier to me than you.”

She let her fingertips linger, dragging against Buffy’s hip as she slowly pulled away, and Buffy’s responding swallow was as visible as it was audible. Both had to take a moment to gather themselves before Buffy finally took a breath in, her voice not fully steady when she spoke.

“Um….right…. we, we should get started with this. The, um, the Verity. Uh…we’ve got the IDs, right?”

Just as reluctant to get back to business, and almost as distracted, Faith forced herself to focus, nodding. 

“Right, got them.”

“Restraint plan, for Verity- we agreed that in the school, unless she actually tries to kill someone, it’s hands only, just to keep up appearances-“

“But we have a sedative shot if we have to, ready to go,” Faith affirmed with another nod. “We have Slayer-proof cuffs in the car.”

“And if she fights-“

“Then we fight back,” Faith replied, some grimness creeping into her tone. “We can’t let the cemetery thing repeat itself. We tranq her, cuff her, knock her out, whatever we have to, to bring her in. It’s two on one, we’ve got this.”

“We better,” Buffy muttered. “If we can’t handle a middle schooler, we might as well retire.”

“Well, you’re starting on your third lifetime here, so you’re probably owed,” Faith pointed out. “Ready when you are, B. Get your nosy do gooder face on, ‘cause now we’re working professionals.”


	18. Chapter 18

Faith could tell as soon as she and Buffy pulled into the parking lot of Verity’s middle school that this kid’s educational institution was not of the type she had been accustomed to. The building was new, freshly painted, and boasting neatly trimmed bushes and an actual flower garden at its front, rather than the weathered, paint-peeling gargoyle of a place Faith had attended. She didn’t see potholes in the parking lot or burnouts smoking by the dumpsters, and the property hosted not only a new football stadium but also tennis courts, a soccer field, a freshly painted blacktop with basketball hoops that actually still had backboards, even, unbelievably, a fenced in pasture with what looked like stables inside their circle. The place Verity called her school looked to Faith more like some sort of wealthy camp or hobby club rather than a place intended to give an education. Who would think a snooty place like that could harbor a girl like Verity Catlett?

Even Buffy appeared taken aback by the obvious wealth associated with Verity’s school as she got out of the rental car, checking her purse for the tranquilizers they had made sure to load it with. 

“Wow…this isn’t a college, is it?” she questioned, squinting suspiciously at the sign. “Because I’m pretty sure it has more to do here than my college ever did.”

“It’s the right place all right. We sure this kid isn’t Kennedy’s long lost kid sister?” Faith queried, furrowing her brow. “It would explain a lot.”

She accepted the badge that Buffy handed her, proclaiming her new identity to be that of “Hope Lyonne” and her official position to be a case worker for Fayetteville Department of Social Services. Buffy’s badge declared her to be “Anne Winters,” which Faith had found to be a confusing choice of an identity for her until she remembered that her middle name was Anne. As they made their way together towards the school’s entrance, Faith put a hand briefly on Buffy’s arm.

“I know you said on the way you had some dealings with social services a few years ago, with Dawn, but trust me, whatever experience you’ve got, I’ve had more. So let me do most of the talking and you back me up, okay?”

Buffy opened her mouth, appearing to be considering giving an argument, but then she closed it again, giving a reluctant nod. Faith stepped slightly in front of her as she reached to buzz in to the school’s camera and intercom service, waiting to be allowed inside. A brief exchange with the person manning the security camera ensued, in which Faith informed the woman of her and Buffy’s feigned identities and announced their business at the school to be “taking custody of a student, Verity Catlett, of whom we believe to be at risk of abuse or neglect in her current situation in the home.” She ignored Buffy’s startled response beside her to her tone and phrasing, both very different from how Faith normally spoke, and gave her a quick smile when the woman she spoke to told her to wait for her to buzz them both through. First test, passed with ease.

A woman who was presumably the same to have spoken to them over the intercom system directed them to sign in once they were inside the school’s front office, to the side of the main entrance. She had them show their IDs and scanned them into the system, not seeming to find them suspicious or out of ordinary in appearance. 

“Will you need the student called up to the front office?” she questioned. 

When they nodded, she said pleasantly, “No problem, I’ll call for her momentarily. Will she need to sign out for the day, or are you just needing a private room to speak to her in?”

“She’ll need to be signed out,” Faith said. “We have some things to take care of on her behalf, and we can’t be sure how long it will take for them to be settled.”

The woman nodded her understanding before paging over paging over the school intercom for Verity Catlett to come to the front office with her belongings for dismissal. Faith waited, deliberately avoiding looking at Buffy as her anticipation of Verity’s arrival grew. What was the girl going to do when she saw just who it was that had come to collect her? 

The first thing she noticed as Verity entered the office was that she was carrying several books and a thick binder in her arms. This made sense, of course, as the Slayers still had the backpack that she had left behind. Verity’s hair was held back with a rainbow-patterned headband, her pale face free of makeup, and Faith was struck again as she came into her view by just how young and small she really was. She was no taller than Buffy and more gangly in her build, but she knew that her slight frame was deceptive in the strength and power it harbored. No matter how innocent Verity appeared, Faith knew the truth of her capabilities, and she would not make the mistake of underestimating her. 

Verity stopped short as soon as she opened the office door, her dark eyes widening as she took in the sight of Faith and Buffy, now clad in professional clothing and standing in her school. It was obvious in the few seconds she had not been able to hide her shock that she recognized them and had not been prepared to see them again, let alone on her own turf. But although Faith tensed herself to grab or run after her, if she reacted with violence or flight, the girl’s response surprised her. Verity Catlett quickly fixed a polite smile over her features, feigning mild puzzlement and interest as she let her eyes flicker between the women. 

So she was going for portraying innocence and ignorance, then. Was that her usual choice, or only when she had an audience like the secretary?

“Verity, there are some people here who need to speak with you,” the secretary told her, nodding towards the Slayers, and Verity widened her eyes, somewhat exaggeratedly, to Faith’s judgment.

“Is something wrong?”

“I am Ms. Lyonne, and this is Ms. Winters,” Faith introduced herself and Buffy with their fake names, nodding towards Buffy. “We’re here from the Department of Social Services, and we’ve been asked to interview you at the office. This is an important but confidential matter, and time is of the essence,” Faith cut in. “It’s best if you simply come with us, Verity, and we will discuss everything while we take you to a more private location. Please come with us and we will answer any questions you might have.”

She was trying to throw out all the uptight phrasing she could think of, as observed from Giles and her first Watcher. She was somewhat amused to hear a faint hint of a British accent coming into her tone as well with her efforts and deliberately avoided looking at Buffy, in case the blonde’s shock or just plain amusement pushed her over into snickering too. Both women waited, with Faith trying to avoid conveying anything but her bluffed expectation for Verity to come with them, without protest or resistance.

But Verity was a clever kid, no less than Faith expected. She tilted her head, eyes narrowed just enough for the Slayers but not the school secretary to register the sharp cunning in their depths, and asked with shrewd self-assurance, “I see, but the problem is that I don’t know who you are, where you’re taking me, or why. I’m sure my mother would want me to ask her for permission before I went with strangers, especially in the middle of the school day. I don’t feel comfortable going with you without knowing who you are or what you’re here for, or how you even know my name. I see that you’re wearing badges, but I’d like to see some more identifications, if you have them on you.”

Was this kid for real? Faith was pretty damn sure the kid had just deliberately mimicked the style of speech Faith had put on for the secretary’s benefit, right down to the faint trace of a British accent. She resisted her urge to shoot a half glaring, half astonished look in Buffy’s direction as she focused on the young Slayer. Stepping towards her and noting that Verity held her ground, not stepping back, Faith reached out to hold her fake credentials towards her, keeping firm hold of the card just in case Verity had a mind to snatch it away. Buffy followed suit, raising an eyebrow towards the girl.

“As you can see, we’re here from Department of Social Services, following up on a report made in regards to you, Verity,” Faith told her. “We can’t give any more information for your safety and confidentiality in this setting. We’re asking that you come with us now, but please know that we are willing and able to bring you with us regardless of whether you are compliant with the request.”

She lay a hand on Verity’s arm, grasping it in a gesture that would look casual and comforting to the secretary’s curious gaze, but that conveyed just enough strength and force for Verity to understand that she, Faith, was strong enough and capable enough to counter any fight Verity might show- as strong as Verity herself. She met Verity’s eyes squarely, setting forth both a challenge and a request without words.

“Come with us, please, Ms. Catlett, and as I said, we will explain.”

Verity stared back at her, her expression blank, impassive, but Faith could see the anger mingled with inquisitiveness in the sudden darkening of her eyes. After a few moments the child nodded, painting on a bright, accepting smile that fooled no one except the nosy secretary.

“Okay. I understand.”

Cautious, watchful that the girl could be trying to lower their guards before an attack, Faith kept hold of her arm, eyes fixed squarely on her as she lead her towards the school’s front doors with Buffy close on Verity’s other side, taking hold of her other arm as though in support, but in reality to prepare to assist Faith if the girl began to resist or tried to flee. The girl kept smiling as they lead her, giving a wave and a casual goodbye to the secretary over her shoulder.

“Bye, Ms. Renee, I’ll see you tomorrow, I hope!”

She held her smile and her relaxed, easy posture until the doors had closed behind her, locking automatically with an audible click. When it was certain that anyone inside the building was now out of earshot and sight, she hissed under her breath, allowing all traces of bright pleasantry to fade from her voice.

“Are you really social workers? Because last I checked, social workers don’t generally hang out in the cemetery in the middle of the night, it isn’t exactly a depressing breakroom with inspirational posters or a Bible study holy hoedown. And I’m not an idiot, unlike that fool of a woman who let you come in and kidnap me in front of her without blinking an eye. I know how social services works, you have to do a million interviews and get some kind of proof before you pull a kid from their home. If you’re really social workers, you’re breaking a ton of rules, so you really need to get fired. I’ll make sure it happens, that’s a promise. And if you’re not, then you faked those IDs, and that’s a felony. So is appropriating someone else’s identity, and kidnapping a child. You’re really digging yourselves some deep holes here,” Verity warned darkly, shaking her head.

Then her darkened eyes lit up as a new thought dawned on her.

“Unless you’re police officers, and you’re undercover. That’s it, isn’t it? But you’re still breaking some laws, haven’t you heard of innocent until proven guilty? What about reading me my rights, you’re just going to skip that? Not to mention, you can’t question a minor without an adult present, and I want a lawyer too.”

“Just keep walking, kid,” Buffy instructed, tightening her grip on the girl’s arm and giving her a tug towards the car. “We have tranqs, and we’re not opposed to using them if you make us.”

But Faith had caught on to one part in particular of Verity’s rambling, and despite Buffy’s admonishment to stay focused and keep Verity walking to Verity herself, she couldn’t let it go.

“How do you know about how social services works?” she blurted. “You dealt with them before?”

Verity rolled her eyes, huffing aloud in obvious disgust. “No, I haven’t, and if you were a real social worker then you would already know that I don’t have a file, open or otherwise. But I read, I listen to people talk, and I remember the things that are important to know. Maybe you ought to try those things out, they might help you actually decent at pretending to be things you don’t know about.”

Faith knew plenty about social services, far more about their incompetency and red tape than their actual help. But that wasn’t something she needed to say to Verity, at least not now. 

“Come on, kid,” she said instead, tightening her grip on the girl’s arm. “Just get in the car and we’ll talk.”

“You’re hurting me,” Verity said, but there was awe rather than complaint in her tone. “How are you…both of you, you’re strong t-“ 

She cut herself off, just before the start of the word that both Slayers knew she had been prepared to say. Faith smiled somewhat grimly, inclining her head in a brief nod of acknowledgment.

“Right, we’re strong too. Cooperate and we’ll tell you why, ‘cause if you don’t already know, you’re gonna want to hear this, and we’re the only people that can give you the answers you want.”

Several feet away from their car now, Verity stopped walking, bringing the women to a stop along with her. She squinted her eyes towards them, setting her jaw.

“You’re not police officers,” she said decisively. “And you’re not social workers. Are you…are you supervillains?”

“No,” Buffy said, sounding insulted, as Faith replied simultaneously, “No. Well, once. But I switched teams.” 

“To what, exactly?” Verity queried, and Faith raised her eyebrows, a near opposite to the furrowed set of Buffy’s.

“To the superhero team, obviously. What, I need spandex to get the point across? Thanks, I’d look hot and all, but I’m not about wedgies and camel toe.”

“I prefer a cape,” Buffy quipped, smirking at Faith. “And at least a little shiny skirt around the leotard stuff.”

Faith grinned, not even trying to hide her visual image of Buffy clad as she had described and the cleavage that a spandex leotard with a push up underwire would create. As Buffy released Verity, keeping her eyes on her as she went around to the driver’s side and opened the door to get inside, Faith took hold of her wrist with her free hand after opening the backseat and gesturing for her to get inside. Verity narrowed her eyes, balking and suspicious.

“You just told me you’re a supervillain, you’re the only person I’ve met capable of putting a bruise on my arm by holding it, and you’re asking me to get in a car with you to go to a mystery location. Do you think I’m an idiot, or suicidal?”

“Used to be a supervillain, used to be!” Faith protested, rolling her eyes. “But yeah, more or less, that’s what we’re saying. Only we’re telling you, not asking you.”

“And if I don’t?”

“Well, then we tranq you,” Buffy said casually, fishing out the syringes they had prepared for the possibility and holding one up as evidence to show her. “Knock you unconscious, and put you in the car anyway. When you wake up you’ll be handcuffed and tied.”

“And you tell me you’re not a supervillain anymore,” Verity remarked, but there was a note of respect in her tone that Faith noticed. “You know the school parking lot has cameras, right? They’ll see you doing all that, and they’ll send the police after you.”

“Yeah, but how strictly do you think they watch those things?” Buffy returned. “It could be days before anyone reviews security footage, if ever. It’s a rich kid middle school, not a prison. By the time someone comes after us, if they ever did, you’ll be long gone and so will we. But hey, your choice. Get in still conscious or not, up to you.”

Verity hesitated, her arms tensed beneath Faith’s grasp, and Faith prepared herself to restrain her if she decided to resist. But with a sigh the girl bent to get into the car, seeming to see the logic of this decision. Faith kept one hand on her as she followed her into the backseat, and as she shut the door, she heard Buffy click the child locks into place after them. 

“Got her?” Buffy murmured to Faith, and as Faith affirmed this, Buffy maintained her hold of the syringes, keeping them within Verity’s line of sight.

“You make a move towards me or her, Verity, and we’ll use these. First thing you need to understand is that you are not in control, not here. We are.” 

Verity said nothing, but her eyes, noted by Faith to be a dark, murky color somewhere between dark blue and gray, flashed with something like defiance. Nevertheless she nodded, remaining still and seemingly compliant, even as Faith gripped her arms again, careful to keep her face out of biting or spitting range. Prison had been useful in prepping her for just how dirty some got when resisting. 

“Sure you got her?” Buffy checked with Faith a final time as she put the keys in the car’s ignition. Faith reassured her again that she had, and as Buffy pulled the car into drive, Verity exhaled, loudly and dramatically enough to be sure that Buffy as well as Faith would hear.

“You know, you’re really making this far more of a power trip than you have to,” she stated evenly. “You’re obviously at an advantage here. You have weapons, I don’t. You know who I am and where I go to school, I don’t even what your real names are. You’re older, you’re bigger-“

“Hey, not by that much!” Buffy protested, to Faith’s amusement. Was she actually taking offense that a murdering middle schooler could be implying she was old and fat? 

“All this is kind of overkill if you ask me,” Verity continued, not bothering to acknowledge Buffy’s interruption. “Is it because you’re not as confident that you’ve got something on me as you think you do? Or is it just because you have something to prove, after the cemetery? Since you clearly didn’t have control of things there.”

Both Slayers tensed at the girl’s remark, as much at the mocking tone and the casual manner that she had tossed it out as the words themselves. She had in mere minutes managed to zoom in on what both felt regret and emotion towards in their encounters with her- the killings in the cemetery, especially of Giabella Higgins. Faith had to force herself to keep her grasp of the girl’s arms steady as her voice as she answered her.

“Yeah, ‘bout that. Let’s talk about the cemetery. You killed those people, Verity. How long did you think you’d get away with that before it came back to haunt you?”

“Oh, I don’t believe in ghosts,” Verity said easily. “Other things, yes, but not ghosts. And before you waste your breath asking me anything else, you should know that I’m done talking, until you do some talking first. I want to see where you’re taking me and I want to know who you really are and what you’re really doing kidnapping me like this.”

“Kidnapping you?” Buffy spat, almost stuttering. “Are you serious? You think you have the right to bargain with us? After what you did, you’re going to call us kidnappers like-“

“You came into my school under false pretenses, I’m guessing with false names, and you’re taking me to a place I don’t know, under threat of harm, when you know it wasn’t my choice,” Verity countered calmly, thrusting out her jaw for emphasis. “That is a pretty good definition of kidnapping, yes. You’ve clearly been stalking me, and you’re not telling me why, or what you want out of me. So yes, I don’t think I want to say anything else to you until I know you’re not going to use it against me. I’m not using up my energy and distracting my mind by talking while you take me somewhere that I might not remember otherwise how to get back from.”

But there was no anger, anxiety, or resentment in her words, and Faith felt no tension of her muscles under her grasp of her. It was her impression that Verity was in fact enjoying herself.

The kid was obviously trying to rile them both up, or maybe to distract them enough to make mistakes. She was doing a good job of it with Buffy, too; as Faith glanced towards the rearview mirror to see Buffy’s expression, she saw that the blonde was clinching her jaw, her knuckles white around the steering wheel. Not for the first time, Faith had to admire Verity’s intelligence, especially now that she was seeing in action just how skillfully she could use her manipulative powers.

“You have a lot of nerve, little girl,” Buffy ground out. “Did you happen to notice that you are in fact a hostage here? That tends to mean you don’t get to set up stipulations and demands. That-“

“She has a point,” Faith said quietly to Buffy. “We’re not here to hold her hostage, that’s not our job. Ultimately, we want to help her. She’s got to understand that for it to work, right?”

“Faith,” Buffy started, a warning in her tone, but Faith addressed Verity instead, meeting her gaze rather than Buffy’s.

“Fine, score one for you, kid. You have a brain and a sense of self-preservation, you’re gonna need that from here on out, and not because of us.” To Buffy, she said, “Buffy, find somewhere we can pull over and talk to her, away from the road and public eyes. Easier to talk that way anyway, if you’re not driving, and it’s better to have two eyes and pairs of hands on her if we need than one.”

She could tell from the set of Buffy’s shoulders that she wasn’t happy with this, but she complied nevertheless, taking a turn into a dead-end street and pulling behind an abandoned gas station. After checking to make sure that there were no homes, businesses, or pedestrians anywhere nearby that Verity might attempt to call out to, she turned off the car’s engine and turned fully to face them.

“We’re here,” she said flatly. “Not driving. Not going anywhere for the moment. Now you’re talking. Let’s get back to that cemetery night you were mentioning. You obviously remember us, and you obviously don’t care what we think about you and what we saw you do, so you might as well start with the truth. Why did you kill those people? Why did you kill the others, before that night?”

“Don’t tell us that you didn’t,” Faith added, as Verity opened her mouth, eyes widening as though in protest of her innocence even before she could speak. “You’re not the only one with smarts around here. We know you killed the other people they’ve been putting in the papers. We’re not cops and we’re not lawyers, so there’s no point in you denying it. Why, Verity?”

She steeled herself, expecting the girl to either spin a good tale of which she would be both victim and hero, whatever her actions, or else for her to ignore them and deny it all. But Verity just smiled calmly, shrugging her shoulders, and looked first Faith, then Buffy in the eyes with unflappable confidence.

“Prove it.”


	19. Chapter 19

Faith blinked, taken aback. This had not been at all the response she’d anticipated. “What?”

“Prove it,” Verity repeated, just as calmly and with exaggerated patience. “Prove that I killed those people.”

“Are you…no, this is not happening, we are not playing these mind games,” Buffy ground out, shaking her head. “We don’t have to prove anything, we saw it with our own eyes. We saw you kill a little girl and a helpless old man, and it doesn’t even matter why you did it. We saw it, Verity, so this game ends right now.”

“But you can’t prove it,” Verity asserted, unshaken by the heat of the older girl’s tone and the near deadly expression she was directing her way. “And if you can’t prove it, it didn’t happen.” 

Ah. Something clicked in Faith’s mind then, a shadow of the reasoning that she had once hid behind, in order to live with her own choices. 

“Is that what you tell yourself, Verity?” she said softly, giving a meaningful look towards Buffy, an unspoken message for her to back down and let Faith take the lead with the discussion. “If you can get away with it, it never happened- if no one saw it, it doesn’t stick? Is that how you live with yourself and the things you’ve done- by pretending it wasn’t real?”

For so long, that had been a piece of the complicated mishmash of “coping” strategies Faith had used to stay in her denial, a way of keeping the true pain she was feeling and the truth wrong of what she had done at bay. If Verity was using this now, she knew she could understand that, and she would have a chance to get through to her, to connect with her. She could make her see, make her understand. 

But Verity looked at her with amusement that did not seem forced or feigned, as it would have been for Faith. From this girl, Faith had yet to get a sense of true insecurity or bluffing, as she herself had tried so hard to mask.

“Live with myself and what I’ve done? You say that like it should bother me. The only thing that bothers me is when things don’t go how I want.”

“It should,” Buffy muttered, more to herself than to Verity, and for a moment Faith saw a glimpse of the Buffy she had once known, the teenager who never could fully understand all the shades of grey a person could be. 

But Buffy was right. Verity should be bothered by the murders she had committed. There was nothing grey or sympathetic about them, at least not the ones that they had witnessed in person. 

“It should,” Faith repeated, more forcefully than Buffy had as she spoke the words directly to Verity. “It should be bothering you, Verity. It has to. If you think it doesn’t, then you’re lying to yourself. No little girl becomes a murderer overnight and goes on with her life without blinking, and if you really want us to think that’s what happened to you-“

“But it is,” Verity maintained calmly, both expression and tone of voice almost bored. “Whatever you want to believe, that’s how it is.” She tilted her head, focusing her mocking smile solely on Faith. “You talk with a lot of passion for someone who met me five minutes ago. Almost sounds like you think you know me or something. What makes you think you understand me? Sounds more like you’re talking about yourself than me.” 

She paused deliberately, widening her eyes as though being stricken with a new idea. “Oh, is that it? You think you know me, because you think I’m like you?”

Although Faith opened her mouth to answer, Buffy spoke over her, her words louder and harder in tone than Faith thought necessary. Her eyes were not on Verity, but rather on Faith, as though to monitor her response to the child’s needling. Faith got the sense that she was angry with Verity for her provocative words, or maybe worried for Faith in how she might feel about the “guess” that was just a little too much on the nose. Regardless, she spoke quickly, maybe to head off Verity from further speculation, or maybe to stop Faith from saying what Buffy viewed as more information than Verity needed. 

“Let’s start this conversation over. You want to know who we are, and you have a right to know. Both who we are, and who you are. I’m Buffy Summers, and this is Faith Lehane,” she nodded curtly towards Faith. “What we are, Verity, are Slayers, and you are a Slayer too.”

Verity’s dark eyebrows arched, but she appeared politely surprised more than truly astonished. 

“Oh? Are you admitting you’ve killed people, then? When you were supervillains?”

“What?” Buffy frowned, not following her at first. “Oh! No, not Slayers like that, it’s not the same thing as being a killer. We haven’t killed people, that’s not what I mean. Well, I haven’t killed people,” she added, as though needing to feel she was being accurate in her proclamation. “Well, I have, actually, but not, like, murder killing, not in cold blood. It was only if they were trying to kill me or someone else. Besides, it was-“

“Getting off track, there, B,” Faith pointed out. As Buffy took a breath, she took over the explanation.

“Being a Slayer isn’t the same thing as being a murderer. It’s a job, a calling, not a description of something you’ve done. You don’t choose to become a Slayer, you get chosen. I could give you the one girl in all the world speech, but since there’s like, hundreds now, that’s kinda outdated, and I snoozed through it the first time anyway. So point is. We’re Slayers, you’re a Slayer, you can be a Slayer if you never hurt a living thing in your life, although it ain’t real likely that you’d be living long yourself if that was, like, some kind of life goal you had as one. A Slayer is a girl who gets powers- supernatural powers. Usually around fifteen, sixteen years old, but I guess they start ‘em young now.”

She noticed the comprehension begin to settle over Verity’s features and kept talking, careful to maintain her grasp of the girl. Just because she could feel Verity’s muscles relaxing against her hands didn’t mean she should ease up her vigilance. 

“You been noticing that you’re stronger than you should be lately, stronger than you ever were, without having to do anything to earn it? Notice how you’re faster now, how you feel pain less and need less sleep? Ever wonder how that happened? It’s ‘cause you’re a Slayer, Verity. You got old enough to be ready to come into your Slayer abilities.”

Faith had definitely been hanging around Buffy too much; she was starting to pick up her habit of long-winded monologues. Maybe it wasn’t actually a personal trait of Buffy’s; maybe it was a natural side effect of spending time around baby Slayers and sidekicks that you had to explain things to and give orders to. Regardless, Buffy seemed content this time to let Faith be the one to give the lecture. Faith had a feeling from the woman’s expression that this might have more to do with how badly Verity rubbed her wrong than because of any generosity on her part. 

“So I’m a Slayer,” Verity repeated, rolling the word on her tone with a sarcastic inflection. “Let’s say I accept that. You still haven’t told me what exactly a Slayer does, only what it isn’t supposed to do. And even that was kind of vague.”

“Good point,” Faith acknowledged, giving her a brief nod. “All right, so. Long story short. Vampires, demons, monsters, every creature you ever told stories about around a campfire or watched on cable, all real. All totally capable of killing you, eating you, or sacrificing you to some god with an impossible name to pronounce. Slayer’s job is to find them, protect non-Slayers from them, and if we need to, to slay them. The evil things, not the human. Not ever the humans.”

She paused, trying to keep the words from having more emphasis than she wanted them to, lest Verity catch onto it once again. The girl didn’t comment, so she moved on.

“So, again, Slayers are here to slay evil. Monsters that are evil. That’s your purpose, that’s the job you were chosen to do. Who chose you, don’t ask, no idea how or why, don’t care much either. Just know it doesn’t happen to many girls, but it does to the ones who are different and special enough to be capable of rising to the challenge.”

Faith waited for Verity’s response, expecting her to scoff, to start calling her crazy or poking holes in what she had just been told. But Verity had failed many times over to meet her expectations already, and she continued to show that she was unpredictable in her reaction now. She was not scowling or rolling her eyes, but rather beaming, her face lit up with unmistakable pride. 

“I knew it,” Verity said, a quiet but passionate undertone in her words. “I always knew I was better than everyone. It was so obvious, but none of them were ever smart enough to see or know why.”

Faith and Buffy met each other’s eyes almost in the same timing, an uneasy recognition passing between them at Verity’s words. They had both felt the same way that she did, though Buffy’s acceptance of her Slayer status had arrived much later than Faith’s, and Buffy’s sense of superiority had arrived only after years of frustration, pain, and struggle, becoming earned rather than entitled. Nevertheless they both recognized the danger in the feeling, all the more amplified in a Slayer who had already done the things that Verity had. 

“But no one told you what was happening, when you got your powers,” Faith stated, although the words were to confirm rather than to question. “You didn’t know it could happen, or have anyone training you to prepare.” 

When Verity shook her head, clearly still savoring the meaning of the news she had received, Buffy frowned at her, voicing the question Faith herself had wondered.

“Didn’t you wonder what was happening to you, then? It didn’t freak you out to wake up able to throw around people three times your size?”

“Why would it?” Verity sneered, rolling her eyes. “You said it yourself, I’ve always been different, I’ve always been special. That’s why they picked me. I figured I was finally just getting what I was due in life.”

Buffy’s mouth gaped before she pressed her lips into a thin line, her nostrils flaring as the rest of her features pinched. It was a look Faith had become familiar with as her frustrated look, one that normally came shortly before her fists started hitting something or someone.

“What you’re due- you think you’re- no. No, you know what, you might think this is some kind of special thing, that you’re a Slayer because you’re so amazing, but it isn’t all about doing what you want, when you want, and beating people up if they don’t do things your way. There’s a price that comes with being called as a Slayer, Verity, and there’s a duty that comes if you accept it, along with the privileges. It’s a Slayer’s job to protect, to save people, not to hurt them or manipulate them or use them just because you can. Slayers have to sacrifice, Verity, not just go around on power trips because they’re stronger and think they’re better. A slayer-“

“But we are better,” Verity interrupted, and there came the eye rolling that Faith had expected before. “That’s why we can do those things, that’s why we’re chosen. We’re not just different, we’re better.”

And there it was again, the same words Faith herself had used in argument to Buffy, so many years ago. She didn’t have to look at Buffy again to know that Buffy remembered. At the time, Faith had partly believed her words, partly knew how very flawed and based on wrongful choices they were. She had said them as much from a covering of her own guilt and self-hatred, from a need for them to be true, as much as or more than because she believed them. 

But as Faith eyed Verity closely, it sunk in with a sickening realization that it did not appear that this was the case with the younger girl. Verity’s eyes shown with full conviction of her words, and there was no bluffing or posturing in the way that she held her body, only a confidence bordering on arrogance. 

Letting out a breath, Faith shook her head, addressing the girl with a conviction in her own words to match Verity’s.

“You’re wrong, Verity. Buffy’s right. Buffy-“

“Hold on, hold on!” Verity’s lips quivered, her eyes growing round and animated with mirth. “Is that some kind of stupid code name? Because there is no way your name is actually BUFFY.”

Buffy’s eyes flashed enough fire that Faith was surprised the girl could maintain her grin. As it was, she heard the material of the car’s seat begin to tear under the grip of her hands as she pressed them hard against its material.

“Yes, my name actually is BUFFY. Since your name is Verity, also known as truth, and your whole damn life is a lie, I wouldn’t be one to talk if I were you. Her name is Faith, and last I checked she wasn’t especially into religion, before you even go there. Our names don’t matter. The person behind them does. Is that too much to grasp, for someone who thinks she’s so damn smart?”

“Listen to her,” Faith urged, giving the girl’s wrists a squeeze not to hurt, but to emphasize the words. “You don’t have a clue who this woman is and what she’s done for humanity. You don’t have the first idea of how many times she’s saved the entire fucking world, without it doing her any favors or acknowledging or giving her anywhere near the respect she deserves for what she’s been doing every damn day for the past eight years. Buffy Summers can teach you anything you could ever need to know, and make you the best you can ever be. She can save you from the worst of yourself, if you let her, and let me tell you, Verity, whatever Buffy Summers is willing to teach you, whatever she’s willing to give you of her time, you would be a fucking idiot not to accept it.”

“The worst of myself,” Verity repeated, emphasizing the words with some sarcasm. “What do you mean? What you’re accusing me of- killing people?”

“Well, yeah, obviously. But it goes a lot deeper than just that, and you’re gonna have to learn to see that and accept that.”

But Faith’s words were making no impact. She could see it from the stony, superior cast of the girl’s expression and in the set of her shoulders. She caught Buffy’s eye, silently signaling her to try her own hand.

“Put that aside for a minute, Verity,” Buffy exhaled, her tone flat. “Here’s what we’re here for. There is a place for girls like you, a school that Faith has founded. It’s a training center for Slayers. School, room and board, everything you need. It’s in Cleveland, and it’s where you belong. You’ll learn there what a Slayer truly is. Their history, all the demons and vampires and how to slay them, how to defend yourself and fight what’s out there. You can become a true hero there, if you work for it. You can become worthy of the power you’ve been given- if you leave behind whatever the hell you’re doing with yourself now.”

Faith knew even as Buffy finished it was not the right words to motivate a girl like Verity Catlett. She had made it quite clear that becoming a hero was not what she aspired for, nor did she want to change herself or what she was doing. Why not, she didn’t yet fully understand, but she did know that the “work hard, fight hard” speech wasn’t one that would interest the girl. What she didn’t know was what the hell would, if anything. 

Then again, this might not be a time where they could have compromise and discussion. If Verity outright refused, they were going to have to use force.

Verity’s head tilted from one side to the other in slow, exaggerated consideration, the barest hint of a smile curving her lips. 

“So….in other words, come with you, follow your rules,” she spelled out. “Be your employee. I’m sorry, but isn’t child labor illegal in this part of the world?”

“Oh, no, it’s not child labor when you don’t get paid,” Buffy corrected. “That’s one of the many parts of the job that screws you over.” 

“Might not want to get into those aspects, B,” Faith muttered. Turning back to Verity, she focused her attention on her fully, intently, trying to convey the sincerity in which she believed her own words.

“Come on, kid, listen to what we’re telling you. Maybe we’re not your favorite type of people, maybe we don’t know all the right words to say. I get that. But what we’re telling you, what we’re offering you, goes beyond that surface shit. This is what you were made to do, and we’re the people that can teach it to you, the people that have the knowledge and the experience to understand your abilities and help you control them and develop them. We can help you like no one else can. And this is what you need. Whether or not you know that, you need this.”

Verity made a scoffing noise with her tongue and teeth, managing without being able to use her arms or hands to gesture to nevertheless convey attitude in her body as much as her voice.

“I’m sorry, but you met me yesterday, if you could call that literal run in or your elaborate little kidnapping here “meeting.” You might have been stalking me, but that doesn’t mean you know me, and you definitely don’t know what I need. Since you don’t have any of those answers, let me supply them to you. I don’t need anything, nothing but myself and what I can do for myself. You said it yourself, I’m special, I’m so called chosen, and even before I knew exactly how, I was very much satisfied with myself and who I am. I love my life, exactly as it is, and as much as you seem to think otherwise, I’m perfectly comfortable with every part of my life.”

She looked first Buffy, then Faith directly in the eyes as she repeated, with added emphasis, “Every. Part. And if I run into any of those demons you’ve talked about, I’m strong enough to kill them all on my own. I don’t need women older than the Internet to teach me a thing.”

It took every several of the hokey anger-control tactics that Faith had been taught by her two sessions with a shrink in prison not to sock the kid in the face. She had the feeling from Buffy’s expression that Buffy was only holding back herself because with the awkwardness of her twisted-around seated position in the car, she wouldn’t be able to give much force behind a blow. The heated tone of her response to Verity would have made someone like Xander pee himself, but Verity just sat back as much as she could with Faith keeping hold of her, appearing amused, even bored by Buffy’s anger.

“You don’t know the first thing about what’s out there, the plans they come up with, and what they can do to you and anyone else you know! I’ve been a Slayer for half your life, little girl, and I’ve been in constant training all that time. I had friends who were vampires, friends who were witches, friends who were demons or ex-demons, and I still died twice, with all of that there to help and back me up! Faith has been in a coma three times-“

“Wow, for people who say it’s their job to save the world or whatever, it seems like you both suck at it,” Verity interrupted. “Sounds like I’m doing better than you already.”

Faith was pretty sure Buffy was about to use one of their syringes to knock the kid out, just to shut her up, or maybe just a few well-placed blows to the head. She sent a grimacing look of understanding towards Buffy, attempting to defuse her with the limitation of being unable to lift her grasp of Verity to touch her. 

“Know what, Kitty?” she lifted an eyebrow towards Verity, ignoring her confused look at the nickname. “You’re right. You don’t know me or Buffy, and we don’t know you. So tell us. What’s going on with you that you would act like you’re totally cool with what you’ve been doing with yourself and the powers you’ve been given? Killing hookers and druggies, a little girl? That takes a hell of a lot, for a person to cross those lines. What did it take you for to be pushed over into taking those steps? What did it take for you to kill another kid and tell yourself it doesn’t matter?” She paused, searching the girl’s eyes, for any flicker, however faint, of uncertainty, of pain, of a softening that could be the first crack for her to break through. “How did it get to this, Verity? What happened to you?”

Verity gave no gesture, no change in expression, not even the smallest observable hint that Faith’s words had affected her, that she had any emotional response or recognition of them. From what Faith could see, the girl’s lack of emotional reaction went beyond denial, beyond any skill in acting. The girl truly seemed not to relate to what she was being asked. 

Could it be possible that a little girl could kill people, and truly not care? The words Faith had once spoken in falsehood, years before, in denial of her own guilt- could they be true for Verity?

“Here is what you don’t understand,” Verity said back to her, slowly, distinctly, exaggerating her words as though to be certain she was understood. “Nothing happened to me. Nothing traumatized me, if that’s what you’re oh-so-subtley trying to get at, and nothing is making me do anything beyond what I’m choosing. No one’s ordering me, no one’s manipulating me, and I am fully, completely in control. Nothing changed me, nothing steered me off course from being a normal, sweet little girl into something different.”

She shifted her tone again, blinking her eyes in mock innocence and pitching her voice into a grating mocking of a young child’s sweetness. “And the rest…well, I just don’t know what you’re talking about at all. I’ve never killed anyone, I’m innocent. Don’t you see that I’m just a little girl?”

“Okay, I’m over this,” Buffy muttered. “Let’s do what we need to do.”

She produced the handcuffs they had stashed under the driver’s seat, clamping one end first onto Faith’s wrist, then to Verity’s wrist- the one Faith’s handcuffed hand was grasping- before the girl had the time to protest. Verity made an affronted noise in her throat, making a show of trying to pull her hand from its steel encircling. Although Faith knew from experience Slayers couldn’t get out of handcuffs, she nevertheless kept her free hand on Verity’s free wrist. She didn’t want the girl to have too much room to move around, anchored to her side now or not. 

“Oh, I see,” Verity said sarcastically, shaking her newly handcuffed wrist in her lap and flexing her fingers. “So now, when someone catches you kidnapping me, which they will, because I’ll make sure of it- you want to add kinky pedophile acts to your charges too?”

Faith saw one of Buffy’s hands twitch, making a gesture towards the concealed syringes on her person, but Faith shook her head at her quickly, determined for a final try at breaking through to the kid. After all, it wasn’t like she was going anywhere. 

“Cut the bullshit,” she said to Verity, quietly, but forcefully, putting her face just close enough to Verity’s for the proximity to be uncomfortable without making her own eyes cross. “Stop. There’s no one here for you to perform for. We saw you, and we saw the aftermath of what you’ve done. We did our research, Kitty-“

“Are you suffering from dementia, or just mentally malfunctioning? My name is Verity, not Kitty!” Verity tried to interrupt, but Faith ignored her, speaking over her.

“We have eyes. I don’t give a damn if we have proof or not, that doesn’t matter right now, right here. We know, and you know it. It’s just us here. No cameras, no recorders. There’s no reason not to tell us the truth. We can help you. We can protect you, if you need it. So tell us. Tell us what’s happened, or what’s happening, that would make you able to kill another human being without blinking an eye. Now’s the time, Verity. Tell us.”

For several moments silence fell between the three, only the women’s nearly synchronized heartbeats and Verity’s steady breathing audible to Faith’s ears. The child continued to look at her impassively, as though waiting for her to blink or look away, but Faith maintained a hard returning gaze. For that period of silence, Faith thought the girl would waver at last, that the superior, arrogant air that she prayed to be little more than an act would start to fall. But then Verity began to chuckle, a dark sense of pleasure in the noise, and her stomach tightened with the understanding even before Verity spoke that this last effort had still resulted in no change. 

“This isn’t really about me, is it?” she said lightly, jerking her chin up towards Faith. “This isn’t about me at all. It’s about you. She said you were a supervillain, right? The blonde one? So, that means you killed people, didn’t you? And so now you think I must be like you, all twisted up inside, just waiting for someone to give a damn. Just waiting for someone to save me from my poor, tortured self. What was it, Faith Lehane? Abusive childhood? That seems to me what they all say, but who knows, maybe sometimes it’s not just an excuse. Which option on the wheel of misfortune applies- sex, drugs, violence? No friends, nowhere to belong, mommy and daddy didn’t love you? My guess is, all of the above. So, Faith- how many years did you scream out for help that no one wanted to give?”

As close as Faith’s was, she pressed hers still closer, until their noses nearly touched. 

“Poor little Faith…she so badly needed someone to protect her, someone to save her. Someone…” she paused, casting a meaningful look over her shoulder to Buffy. “Someone to love her. And yet you say I’m the one with the problem. That’s so…very….pathetic.”

“Shut up!” Buffy barked, the roughness and rage of her voice sudden enough to make Faith’s eyes snap in her direction, startled. Buffy’s hands shot forward, seizing Verity roughly by the chin and squeezing, forcing her to push her face away from Faith’s. “You say another word-“

“And you’ll what, kill me? And here I was, thinking it was just this one with the criminal past.”

“If you’re as smart as you think you are, you’ll listen to her,” Faith warned Verity, relieved to hear that her voice remained steady, showing none of the sick, shaky feeling that had briefly coursed through her upon hearing Verity’s taunts. Buffy’s nearly violent response in defense of her had been enough to bring her back into the present, away from spiraling down into memories and feelings better left in the distant past. “Enough talking, Kitty. Buffy, let’s get her on to the next step of this.”

“No, I don’t think so,” Verity said in an overly polite tone, as though she were simply refusing an offer of a soda. “See, the two of you are sadly mistaken here, if you believe I’m just another little girl lost, in need of rescue from my big bad self. Sorry, but that’s your life and your issues, not mine. I told you before, I like who I am. I always have, and I don’t want to change. No one, not even you, can make me change. Sorry to disappoint you, but beyond this Slayer status you mentioned, we have nothing else in common. Nothing happened to me, no one bad-touched me, no one so much as spanked my butt too hard. No one has ever done anything to me but tell me how smart and amazing I am, and no one ever will. I’ll make sure of it.”

She chuckled again, shrugging her shoulders up and down and rolling her eyes. “You really want to know the truth? The whole truth? You’re right, I did kill those people, and I’d do it again, and I’ll keep doing it, for as long as it’s fun to do. And they weren’t the first. I killed my own dad when I was twelve, and I slept like a baby the same night. Bet your so-called research didn’t tell you that. I killed his bimbo girlfriend, too, for that matter. And here’s a good one for you- I even killed my baby sister, and I was only five years old back then. No one knows, and no one ever suspected a thing. I’d kill my mom if I could, but I need her at the moment. She buys me clothes and feeds me and everything, and even with the inheritance I’d get, I’m too young for a job yet, and I don’t like the sound of foster care. But in a few years, who knows? Totally not against the thought.”

As these bombshells exploded, one after another, too fast for Faith to quite process, Verity rolled her hands, slowly, subtly in her lap, simultaneously cracking the muscles of her neck loudly. She continued to talk as she did so, further distracting the women.

“Whether or not you want to believe it, I like my life. It is exactly how I want it to be. I like me. Nothing made me like I am but myself, and nothing will change me. Least of all you or anyone else who thinks they need to help me. You two, you might be the kind of Slayers, you’re describing…but me? I might be one of those, but I’m the other kind of slayer too. And unlike you- I was born, not made. And now I know why, thanks to you. I’m above everyone else. I was chosen.” 

With a sudden and savage backward thrust of her slim body, she head-butted Faith directly in the nose, using all the force she could gather with such proximity of space to move around. As Faith’s head smacked against the car’s window, hard enough to smash the glass, and blood begin to spurt from both her nose and several cuts on her scalp, she dropped her grasp of Verity’s free wrist. Buffy made a sharp cry, her hand thrusting forward in an effort to jab Verity with the syringe it had quickly retrieved. Verity seized her wrist, managing to hold Buffy off, centimeters from piercing her skin. She twisted both her own arm and Buffy’s simultaneously, trying to force the blonde to drop the syringe.

Recovered, Faith’s free hand seized Verity’s hair, yanking hard enough that the girl’s head jerked back, and she dropped Buffy’s arm abruptly. Before Buffy could re-aim the syringe, Verity’s free arm drew back, swinging out to viciously elbow Buffy in the throat, sharply enough for the older Slayer to choke and lose her breath, meanwhile dropping the syringe in her hand. Verity snatched it up, and even as Faith’s free hand grabbed Verity, she stuck its tip into the widest part of Faith’s thigh, plunging the lever all the way down. 

The effects of the tranquilizer began to take place almost immediately for Faith. She was aware for the last moments she remained conscious of the throbbing pain of her nose, of Buffy’s blurry, shouted words, and someone- Verity, most likely- pressed against her body, in constant, frantic motion as though fighting or fending someone off- Buffy? 

The last thing she remembered hearing was Buffy’s voice, heavy with outrage and disbelief, before she fell into unconsciousness.


	20. Chapter 20

Faith felt a cold, wet sensation against her face, gentle but nevertheless bringing her some pain as it smoothed over her skin. She became aware of more pain, throbbing steadily at the back of her head and the bridge of her nose, and lifted one arm, attempting to bring it up to touch the affected areas. Her hand came into contact with something solid and soft, and even before opening her eyes, she recognized that she was touching a human being, leaning closely over her.

“Even unconscious, you’re still trying to cop a feel,” Buffy quipped, but the humor in her words sounded forced. “Zooming in straight for the boobs. Is that your idea of foreplay?”

Faith barely registered what she was saying and didn’t bother to answer. Opening her eyes, her vision blurring slightly before clearing, she realized that she was lying on top of the neatly made bed of her and Buffy’s shared hotel room. Buffy was sitting beside her, an open first aid kit to her left, a damp hotel-issue wash cloth in her hand- assumedly the object Faith had just felt touching her face. Faith blinked rapidly, her head turning from one side to the next as she attempted to locate Verity. Not seeing her anywhere within her vision, she attempted to sit up, pushing herself up to her elbows and ignoring the quickly intensified pain flaring through her skull. 

“Where is she?” 

Buffy set down the wash cloth and put her hands on Faith’s shoulders, pressing down to encourage but not force her back against the bed. Faith resisted, shrugging her off.

“No, don’t even say it, I’m not laying back down. Where is she, Buffy, did you get her? Is she in here? What happened, where’s Verity?”

Buffy let her hands fall back limply to her lap, exhaling. Her jaw worked, her hazel eyes hardening, and she touched her throat unconsciously, covering it so it was not within Faith’s view. 

“I don’t know, Faith. She got away. Again.” 

“Again?” Faith echoed, aghast. “Again?!” She wiped a hand over her face in frustration, then flinched as it came into contact with her sore nose. “Fuck.”

“Yeah,” Buffy said tiredly, still touching her throat as she gave a brief nod of agreement. “Fuck.”

She nodded towards Faith, one hand gesturing towards the open first aid kit as though in explanation. 

“I don’t think you need stitches, your hair kinda protected you from having cuts that went too deeply on your head. Or maybe it’s just that hard head of yours coming to good use, I don’t know. I picked out the glass and cleaned the cuts, that should help avoid infection. I’m pretty sure your nose is just bruised, maybe a fracture, but it’s not broken enough to be misshapen, I think it will heal straight enough to be normal. Slayer healing and all. It will probably be swollen for a while, but I used hotel ice for a while. That should help.”

Those were answers to questions Faith hadn’t asked. She didn’t care about her own injuries. She wanted to know what the hell had happened after she was out for the count, just what had gone down when she failed to get the job done right. 

“Okay, but how did we go from there to here? What the hell happened?” Finally noticing the way Buffy held her hand to block her neck, she narrowed her eyes at her, scanning Buffy’s face more carefully. “Are you okay, Buffy? What did she do?”

Buffy sighed, slowly lowering her hand from her neck. Faith’s eyes widened as she saw the bruising mottling her throat. She reached out a hand to touch the marks tentatively, noting that they had an odd shape and coloring- more like Buffy had been choked rather than strangled. But they were not in the shape of fingers or hands. 

“I didn’t give her the key to the handcuffs,” Buffy again addressed a question that Faith had not spoken. “And I didn’t undo them for her, either. You know that, right?”

“Then how-“

“After she used the first syringe on you,” Buffy interrupted, almost seeming not to notice Faith speaking. “I tried to get her with a second one, actually I was almost climbing on top of you both in the backseat at that point. She was fighting me, of course, trying to get that syringe from me too, but I wasn’t letting it happen. She…she managed to maneuver herself behind you, Faith. Using your body to cover hers, like a shield. I scratched you with it, a little, trying to get at her. So, you had part of a second dose too…sorry.”

Faith waved that aside, impatient for the rest of the story. “So she was under me…-“

“So I was trying to push you aside, to get to her,” Buffy explained, a new level of anger coming into her tone. It seemed that the more she thought about it and explained it, the more she reconnected with how she must have felt, back in the moment. “But she’s about as slippery as an eel. Or a slug, or some other gross, sneaky thing that’s hard to grasp hold of. At one point I was basically on top of you, trying to dig her out from beneath-“

Normally, Faith would have had to make a sexual joke or comment about Buffy’s phrasing. It would have been just too easy not to take the opportunity. But now she let it go, far more invested in hearing Buffy’s story.

“And when I was really close, basically up in her face, that was when she brought up her handcuffed hand, and yours along with it, and hooked them around my neck,” Buffy finished bitterly. “She used my neck, and the pressure of your hands and the handcuffs choking off my breathing, to break her own wrist, with just enough blood and bending involved to make things slick and flexible enough to slide out of the handcuff. Then while I was trying to breathe again, she wiggled out of the broken window and ran.”

Faith digested all of this, able to envision this all too clearly. The kid looked like the picture of innocent sweetness, but she could fight with the all claws unsheathed, vicious wildness of an alley cat on steroids. Not unlike Faith herself, a few years back.

It was unbelievable, to think that a kid barely old enough to register on Facebook could have managed twice to go toe to toe with the two oldest and most experienced Slayers in history- and get away without a life threatening injury in the process. Either they seriously needed to up their training, or else this kid, steered the right way, could become one of the greatest, most formidable sources of Slayer skill and power.

“Did you follow her?” she asked Buffy, already anticipating and preparing to be disappointed by her answer. “Did you see where she went?”

“Faith, no, I didn’t follow her,” Buffy exhaled, the irritable look she cast her way showing some exasperation towards Faith rather than herself or the situation for the first time since Faith had come to. “You were unconscious. You were bleeding, hurt. She knows this town, and we don’t. If I left you to run after her, she could have lead me off track, then circled around to you while I was still trying to find her. She could have taken the car and kidnapped you, even killed you, Faith. I wasn’t about to give her that chance.”

Buffy’s reasoning was logical, Faith had to admit. It was what Faith herself would have done, if the situations were reversed. Regardless of the Slayer responsibility to protect others from harm, rather than finding Verity, protecting others from her…if given a choice, Faith would have focused on protecting Buffy. 

Still, although it was a decision Faith herself would have made, a strange stirring of warm wonderment and gratitude mingled with guilt and responsibility in the center of her chest. It didn’t seem right, for Buffy to choose her safety over others. Somehow, even now, she felt unworthy of being chosen- a definite irony, for one of the original Chosen Two. 

Again her hand reached out, her thumb lightly ghosting across the dark surface of Buffy’s bruised skin, and Faith sighed, an almost exact echo in sound of Buffy’s earlier exhalation. She had an urge to kiss those marks, to try to somehow lessen them or remove them with gentler touch, but restrained herself from more.

“God, Buffy, I’m sorry.”

“For what?” Buffy raised an eyebrow, her answer almost angry in tone. “This wasn’t your fault, Faith, at least not only yours. We both went into this without appreciating the level of threat this girl can be. We underestimated her, and that’s my mistake too, not only yours.”

“Twice,” Faith muttered, and Buffy scowled, nodding.

“Right. Twice. But now we know. And I’ll be damned if we make the same mistake a third time.”

She shook her head again, muttering as much to herself, it seemed, as to Faith the same general thoughts Faith herself had been harboring.

“Outplayed by a little girl. Are we sure she’s human? She doesn’t hit like a god, but still, I’d like to be able to blame this on something other than a few months off making me really, really off my game.”

“We have to find her.”

Faith stood, attempting to stretch out some of the stiffness and soreness in her muscles. She ignored the flares of pain in her head, willing them to diminish into nothing as she continued to speak.

“She’s not going off on a killing spree now, not with a broken wrist. She’ll go somewhere to have it looked at. A hospital, maybe, or a doctor. And she’s smart enough to know that most places won’t admit a minor, even an injured one, without an adult there with her. So my guess is she’ll go home. She’ll make up some story to tell her mom, and-“

“Faith, you just rejoined those of us who are conscious,” Buffy pointed out. “You want to go after her right away- right now? With no new and improved plan in place first?”

“Now is perfect,” Faith argued, turning to face her where the other woman remained seated on the bed. “She’s probably on an adrenaline high, thinking she’s completely invincible and she’s kicked us back down for a few counts. We’ll strike when she least expects it, and when we can be pretty sure she isn’t trying to hurt anyone else yet. We’ll have the advantage here, Buffy, the element of surprise. We can-“

“We need to talk about that.” Buffy’s interrupting words were quiet, but firm, and just a little too calm to sound natural or unrehearsed. “About what we’ll do with Verity, once we capture her. About what will come next, after that.”

“Right, we obviously need to re-plan the specifics,” Faith nodded, assuming that Buffy simply felt they needed a more detailed plan of action. “I say mistake number one was putting her in the car conscious. That was just stupid. I don’t know what we were thinking on that, that was just a massively bad judgment call. We already knew she’s killed, we should have had her fully secured before we tried the talking and explaining route. So getting her at the school was a bad idea, way too many witnesses. Maybe if we get mom in the know, get her on board with things?” she mused aloud, considering the possibilities. “We can get her to drive Verity somewhere that we’ll be, and once they get out, we’re waiting, we knock her out, successfully, this time. Then we cuff her up, keep shooting her up with tranqs until we get her somewhere secure. I mean obviously this can’t be out in the open, so maybe at Verity’s house? But we’d have to get a chance to talk to her mom first, explain to her. Convince her, ‘cause that kid is gonna turn up hella convincing around now. Maybe-“

“Faith,” Buffy cut her off again, still quietly, but insistent. “No. That won’t work.”

“Hey, I know the details are sketchy, but give me a second before you shoot the whole idea down,” Faith protested, shrugging. “Just hear me out. 

“The details don’t matter,” Buffy maintained, shaking her head. “It isn’t going to work.”

Faith looked more closely at her, noticing the strained, serious lines of her features. And yet it wasn’t hopelessness she saw in her expression, or even simple pessimism. It was resolve- a grim, unhappy understanding and commitment of something she had already decided, but not yet voiced. 

“We can up the tranq dosage,” she said slowly. “We can ask Giles to send more Slayers for back-up, if you think we need that. But we can’t just say that it won’t work, Buffy. We don’t know that, not when we haven’t tried everything. Besides, it’s the job we’ve been sent to do. It has to work.”

She paused, her next words bitter and hated on her tongue even before she spoke them.

“You don’t have to be here for this. Not if you don’t want to be. If you’ve changed your mind-“

“That isn’t what I’m saying.” Buffy swallowed, her eyes shifting downward as she ran a hand through her hair, nails lightly scraping her scalp. “I’m in this, Faith, and I don’t intend to leave you to deal with it on your own, or with the other Slayers either. It’s not that.”

She swallowed, her shoulders hunching in slightly, before straightening her body and lifting her eyes to meet Faith’s. 

“I don’t think we should be capturing her, Faith. I mean, we should capture her- obviously, we can’t just give up and pretend we don’t know what’s going on. We can’t leave her to keep killing people. What I’m trying to say is when we capture her…we shouldn’t bring her back with us to the academy. That won’t work, Faith. Everything you were talking about doing with her, once we brought her in…that’s what I think isn’t going to work.”

There was nothing cryptic in what Buffy had said, nor in the direct, serious way that she looked at her as she said it. Still, Faith didn’t fully follow, or maybe she refused to, because what she was saying was nothing she wanted to hear.

“Then what are we supposed to do with her, once we have her, if we don’t bring her back to rehab her?”

Buffy stayed silent, not shifting her gaze away. The pieces Faith had not wanted to understand clicked into place then at last, and she made a noise of startled protest in her throat, her hands lifting up in unconscious blocking against the idea still not voiced aloud.

“No. No, you’re not saying-“

“I am,” Buffy confirmed, her head dipping into a short, single nod, her voice remaining soft. “At least, I’m considering it as the best of many bad choices.”

“You can’t be serious.” Faith shook her head hard, her eyes narrowed into a near glare. “Buffy, you’re not serious right now. We can’t…we can’t just SLAY a human being, even one like Verity!”

“I don’t like the thought of it, Faith, you know that.” Buffy stood, taking a tentative step towards her, but making no effort to touch. “But we need to be realistic. We need to consider all options, not just the ones you wish would work out. We need to have our eyes open to what the situation is and what we can really do to manage it.”

“I didn’t come out here to kill anyone,” Faith spat out, taking two steps back in response to Buffy’s step forward. She crossed her arms tightly over her chest, an unconscious shield across her heart. “I didn’t bring you to kill anyone, either. I thought you understood, that isn’t where I am anymore, that isn’t what I do. I thought you wouldn’t consider that kind of thing either. I thought-“

She stopped herself, just before finishing the sentence, but she had never been skilled at hiding her feelings from showing in her expression or her eyes. “I thought you were better than that” was not spoken aloud, but Buffy surely could read between the lines.

“I’m not trying to imply anything negative about you, Faith. Please, try to see that. I know that wasn’t your intention, and it wasn’t mine, either. But Verity…” 

Buffy sighed again, leaning back against the nightstand beside the hotel bed. She rubbed her hands over the material of her pants, as though trying to pull the right words from her clothing to bring forth.

“She’s not just any human, Faith, or even just any murderer. You heard what she was saying, and you’ve seen what she’s capable of. You’ve seen her, Faith. Do you really think there’s anything there to rehabilitate? Do you really think someone like Verity could end up becoming someone like you or me?”

“Yes,” Faith said fiercely, her fingers digging white marks into the skin of her crossed arms from the pressure exerted upon them. “Yes, Buffy, I fucking do. Did you even hear yourself? If anyone’s proof that a murderer can cross back to the good side, it’s me. And if anyone can help make that happen, it would be someone like me! Maybe you don’t get that, maybe you don’t have that kind of faith in me. Or maybe you’re too perfect to get it, maybe you think just because you never made mistakes that big-“

“Faith, it isn’t like that at all. I’m not-“

“Well, I’m not giving up on her, Buffy, I’m not writing her off that fast, because it’s the easier thing to do. I’m going to stick with this, and I’m going to give her every chance to redeem herself, no matter how much of a pain in the ass it is, because that’s what Angel did for me. God, Buffy, don’t you remember some of the rap sheets of the people you call your friends? Forget me, what about fucking Angel himself? What about Anya, didn’t she kill a few hundred people over the past millennium? Or was it thousands? What about Willow, or hell, even Andrew? What makes you think all of them are good enough to be allowed to live, but not Verity Catlett?”

The increasingly agitated, aggressive tone beginning to color Faith’s voice would likely have triggered Buffy’s automatic defenses or fighting instincts in the past. But today Buffy’s stayed calm, keeping her tone low and neutral as she answered her in an infuriatingly reasonable manner.

“It isn’t about being good enough or not being good enough. Think, Faith. What do all those people you just mentioned have in common? It isn’t the fact that they’re my friends or allies, or even that I care about them. It isn’t about me at all, whatever you’re telling yourself. All of those people, every single one of them, had a point in their lives where they were doing what was right, or at least not actively doing evil just for the sake of doing evil. They felt bad about what they did, at some point afterward, no matter how terrible it was. They had influences driving them towards the evil acts, whether that be grief, not having a soul, wanting revenge, being possessed, rage, fear- there was pain, something that happened, something that made them feel it was necessary, even if they knew it was wrong.”

She paused, holding Faith’s gaze with hers, as though daring her to contradict her. But Faith couldn’t. For someone who had never murdered directly, Buffy seemed to have a pretty good understanding of what set it in motion for others, including Faith herself. 

“None of those people, while possessing a soul, killed people, just because they wanted to, just because they enjoyed it,” Buffy continued, each word measured. “And that’s what makes Verity different, Faith. If she’s telling the truth- and I think she is- she doesn’t kill like you did, or like Willow did, or even like Anya or Andrew did. She doesn’t kill out of some kind of pain. She kills because she enjoys it. She kills because she knows she can.”

She paused again, straightening so she stood to her full height, with full conviction in her posture. 

“She kills like a vampire, Faith, and not a souled one. She kills like Angelus.”

She wasn’t wrong. That was one of the things that used to infuriate Faith the most about Buffy- how very seldom she was wrong, and how very firmly she broadcasted her rightness to anyone who didn’t or didn’t want to agree.

But even if she wasn’t wrong- well, she couldn’t be right, either, not with this. Verity might kill like Angelus, but that didn’t mean she was Angelus, or that she should be dealt with like Angelus. Verity was still a human being, still a human girl with a soul. That had to mean something. 

“We can help her, though,” Faith argued, but even she heard the limpness in her words. “We can make her see that she needs to redeem herself.”

Like Angel had redeemed her. Like Angel had redeemed himself. If Faith could do it, no matter how impossible and undeserved it had seemed to her then, she owed it to Verity to give her that same chance.

But Buffy shook her head, unpersuaded by this argument, even as her expression softened- perhaps seeing something in Faith’s face that shifted her understanding of Faith’s determination, or perhaps she truly did feel more towards the situation than it seemed. 

“There’s nothing to redeem, Faith. She’s killed multiple people. We saw her do it. We-“

“She can become better!” Faith’s words were heated, rising slightly in pitch. Beginning to pace the room, she scraped her fingers roughly through her hair, an unconscious imitation of Buffy’s earlier gesture. 

“She has to become better, Buffy. That has to be possible. Why would the Powers that Be choose a girl like that, a girl who was doomed to murder and be murdered, without there being some kind of reason for picking her? They wouldn’t just choose a kid who can never be a Slayer, that would be fucking pointless! They wouldn’t choose a kid who’s just hopeless, and-and evil!”

“So they made a mistake,” Buffy countered, a hardened edge creeping into her voice at last. “Who ever said they know what they’re doing? They make little girls into warriors on a whim, they don’t care how much it screws them over in the process. Who says they know what girls they should pick and what girls they shouldn’t?”

“Oh, like with me?” Faith tossed out, giving a sarcastic laugh as her pacing upped its speed in her semi-circle around the room. “Thanks, B, glad to know where we stand.” 

“Oh, Faith, grow up!”

Buffy caught up with her in several strides, grasping her arm and pulling her to a stop in her circling, mid step. Faith jerked, attempting to pull herself from her, but Buffy held firm, forcing her close to her as she dropped sharp as knife jabs near her ear.

“This is not about you. This is not about Willow, or Angel, or anyone else. This is about Verity Catlett and who- no, WHAT- she is. She’s a kid, yes, and a Slayer, and yes, whatever her actions indicate to the contrary, she’s assumedly a human being with a soul as well. But she’s also someone that a police cell can’t hold if she didn’t choose for it to, Faith. She is a person who killed people because she enjoyed it and who plans to keep doing it. She got the best of two Slayers ten years older than her. She’s a kid, Faith, but kids grow up. Think of what she could be in five years, ten years. Think of what more she could do, with even more power at her disposal.”

Buffy’s fingers on her arm felt like slim anchors, trying to lock her in place when all Faith wanted was to have space from her. With just enough force to draw away without harming her, Faith tugged herself free and took several steps back, feet spread as though in preparation for a possibly needed defensive stance.

“She doesn’t have to be like this,” she managed, the words dry on her tongue. 

“No,” Buffy said simply, the words lacking expression, but her eyes were sad. “She doesn’t. But she chose to be. She wants to be.”

“She’s a human being.” Faith was aware she was repeating herself, but it was a point damn well worth repeating, one that needed to be very clear to them both. “A person, Buffy, not a demon, not a vampire. A Slayer. Chosen- like us. She has a soul.”

“So does every single one of the people she murdered,” Buffy pointed out, exhaling. “Do you think I’m telling you this lightly? Do you think this is something I came out here, thinking I would do? I don’t want to kill anyone, Faith. I don’t want to cause the death of a middle schooler, no matter what reason. But sometimes…sometimes we have to make impossible choices, choices without good solutions. And this is going to be one of them.”

She swallowed, one hand lifting slightly, then dropping, seeming to have thought better of making another effort at touch. 

“I don’t want to kill her, Faith, but I will, if I have to. And I think that it is what we’re going to have to do.”

Faith’s pacing slowed, then stopped as she faced one wall, one hand rubbing hard over her face. Vision blurring briefly, then slowly coming clear again, she stared at the fading wallpaper as she responded.

“This isn’t what I brought you with me to do. This isn’t right, Buffy. This…it’s not right.”

Buffy’s breath heaved, and although Faith didn’t look, she could feel her moving closer, perhaps only a step or two behind.

“I know, Faith. But I don’t think anything we do with this will be wholly right. What I’m telling you is that this might just be a lesser shade of wrong.”

“I can’t do it.”

The words came out more of a plea than a statement, a wish for the words she spoke to be true.

“I can’t do it, Buffy. I can’t kill a human being again.”

Silence drew between them, long enough that Faith began to think she had not spoken aloud for Buffy to hear. Then cool hands came to rest lightly on her shoulders, and Buffy’s forehead pressed against the nape of Faith’s neck, her words barely audible against her skin.

“Then let’s hope you don’t have to.”


	21. Chapter 21

For the remainder of the day, various conversations were held and a long phone call was placed to Cleveland before Faith and Buffy had come up with a definite plan for their next course of action. Throughout the discussions with Willow, Giles, and Xander, no mention of killing Verity came from Buffy’s part, nor anyone else’s, but Faith remained alert nevertheless to the cautious, uneasy implication of the possibility never spoken aloud. What she could not fully determine was whether any of the others, like Buffy, believed it was the best thing, even the only thing, to be done.

How ironic would it be, if only Faith believed in the need for Verity to remain alive?

Eventually things were set into place. Again, Buffy and Faith would take a proactive approach, meeting Verity in one of her natural habitats- her own home. Willow emailed over false warrants for her arrest as well as a search warrant, and she also magicked over police badges that Xander had managed to “borrow” for the evening. It was official- Faith Lehane, technically a felon, was now about to impersonate an officer of the law. Just add it to one of the many crimes that she had undertaken in the name of justice in the past few days. 

Once Verity was in their custody- and this time, tranquilizers, handcuffs, and whatever other measures needed to render her unable to fight back would be completely and freely used- the Slayers would also take custody of her mother, Tonya Catlett, if she were overly resistant or attempted to contact law enforcement or otherwise draw unhelpful attention to what they were doing. While transporting a likely unconscious Verity, they would explain to her mother who and what Verity was, their true identities, and what they hoped to do for her. If everything went well- and there was every possibility that it might not- they would arrive at Cleveland with Verity in captivity, her mother up to speed on information and on board with them helping her daughter, and a crew of Slayers to support them in the very difficult task of containing the newest of the pack.

If this failed…well, there was no spoken plan B, but Faith was nevertheless aware of it. Buffy had spelled it out all too clearly before.

88

There was nothing out of ordinary about Verity’s home or the street she lived on. In fact, it rather reminded Faith of the comfortable, clean, and attractive house that Buffy herself had once inhabited back in Sunnydale. Although Faith doubted Verity’s neighborhood, not existing near an active Hellmouth, saw as much death, murder, and general carnage as Buffy’s had, it nevertheless was similar in the prettily kept lawns, the large homes with porches out front, and the lack of graffiti, homeless people, or even smokers hanging out on its neatly paved sidewalks.

It was pure suburbia in the way that Faith herself had never experienced, growing up, the kind of setting she had sneered at and envied all at once. It was absolutely no surprise to her that Verity Catlett had been raised in this kind of environment, nor that she had managed to turn it all to her advantage.

It was probably lucky that Faith and Buffy were still driving a very blandly colored rental car; it would fit in well in the setting of the street and would not be noticed readily. Had they driven up in a police car, decked out in full uniforms, the neighbors would likely have been not only alert to the change in their sleepy little neighborhood, but also alarmed and watching closely. The less attention was drawn to them or Verity, the better- especially with the level of flair Verity had shown in being able to screw up their plans.

As they parked behind the mini-van in Verity’s driveway- a vehicle that Faith noted with grim amusement seemed more to conform with neighborhood standards rather than a necessity for the Catletts, given that there were only two of them- Buffy checked, then re-checked that she and Faith both had the needed instruments for everything they might have to use to contain Verity. Although neither had bothered with an official uniform- there was such a thing as undercover police, after all- both had police-style belts to hold tasers, batons, handcuffs, and tranquilizer syringes. It was still the goal, though Buffy didn’t agree with it, to take Verity alive, but both were now much more prepared to encounter the obstacles she would certainly try to throw in their way. 

There had been little discussion between the Slayers as they made their way to the house of their target, beyond the necessary confirmation of details and procedure. The tension between them felt thick and tangible to Faith, almost visible between them and full of words that were not spoken aloud, feelings which were not expressed or acknowledged. They did not touch as they walked side by side to the Catlett’s front door, but despite the strain of their emotions and the conflicting view of their thoughts, Faith felt no doubts of Buffy’s support. She knew that Buffy would have her back, just as she knew she would have Buffy’s, above everything, no matter what was about to go down. This was unchanging, no matter how differently they might feel about Verity’s fate. This was what meant the most to her.

As Buffy raised a callused hand to ring the Catlett’s doorbell, Faith let her shoulder press briefly against hers, gratified when Buffy’s lips twitched in a quick near smile as she gave her a light bump back in response. No matter what, the two of them would be okay, afterwards. They would have to be, after making it this far.

At least, that was what Faith hoped. But when had things ever worked out how she wanted or expected? 

They had been prepared for the possibility of Verity answering the door, likely with weapons or at least poised to fight. But instead a woman no more than ten years older than they themselves were cautiously eased the door open a few inches, looking them over with the timid nature of a deer tensed to run at the first sign of danger.

“Yes? Can I help you?”

This must be Tanya Catlett, Verity’s mother. She looked no different than any other middle-class woman in her early thirties, though Faith noted the lines of strain or anxiety around her eyes and creasing her forehead. She shared some of Verity’s physical attributes, with dark hair of a similar shade and similar facial shape. But the cool, amused arrogance of how Verity carried herself did not in any way resemble the slumped weariness of her mother’s shoulders or the tension she held in her body and jaw. 

Tanya Catlett might not have influenced her daughter’s behavior or choices, but she certainly appeared to carry their consequences in her own life. What remained to be seen was just how much she knew or suspected of their true cause.

Faith glanced towards Buffy, waiting for her barely perceptible nod to confirm that their earlier discussed plan was unchanged. With Buffy’s tendency to ramble when put on the spot, and her admitted level of unease with this final effort of capturing Verity, they had decided Faith would do most of the talking, at least until they could be sure that Tonya would cooperate. 

“Good evening, ma’am,” she began, mustering the most brusque, official tone she could, nodding towards Tanya in acknowledgment. “I’m Officer Lehane and this is Officer Summers.”

She flashed her badge at the woman, and Buffy followed, both doing so too quickly for her to get a good look. Faith continued her mentally rehearsed explanation as she replaced it.

“We’re here to address a matter of some importance, and I would appreciate cooperation on your part. Is this is the residence of Verity Catlett?”

Tanya blinked, taking a step back, her hand’s grip loosening around the door frame. She kept the door open, but widened the width of its gap so the Slayers could just make out the living room furniture behind her. 

“Uh, yes, yes it is, Verity is my daughter. I’m her mother, Tanya Catlett. Is there…is there a problem? Has something happened at her school?”

“Yes ma’am, we do have a problem involving your daughter, but we have no knowledge of any incidents occurring at her school.”

Faith withdrew the forged warrant, holding it out to Tanya Catlett for her to see. She doubted the woman would know what to expect in one, but you could never be sure, and Willow had insisted on making sure it was accurate. Familiar with them or not, it obviously passed Tanya’s inspection, for her already troubled eyes grew wide and glinted with new alarm. As she took another step back, Faith eased the toe of her foot into the door’s space, insuring the woman would not shut it in their faces.

“As you can see, ma’am, this is a very serious matter. We have a warrant for Verity Catlett’s arrest. If Verity is on the premises, I must ask that you cooperate with us and our investigation, for her best interests and your own.”

“But…but there must be some mistake!” Tanya protested, shaking her head first in a slow, dazed manner, then more firmly as the full meaning of Faith’s words hit. “Verity, arrested? My Verity? Officer, you’re mistaken, you must be. My daughter is only thirteen!”

“No mistake, ma’am,” Faith corrected, keeping her tone gentle but firm. She touched the door, ready to push it open, to push past Verity’s mother and her body’s blocking of the entrance, if necessary. “Can you tell us, please, if Verity Catlett is on the premises now?”

“She…yes, but…but I’m telling you, this is ridiculous, this is a mistake! My daughter didn’t do anything worth arrest, she’s just a child! Didn’t you hear me, she’s only thirteen! What is it you think she could have possibly done?”

It was Buffy who answered her this time, with the grim expression and flat tone that Faith had avoided. 

“Murder. We’re here to arrest your daughter for murder, and there’s no mistake about it. It happened.”

Predictably, Tanya Catlett didn’t respond calmly to that. She started sputtering protested exclamations as Faith shot Buffy an annoyed scowl, nudging her foot with the one not blocking the door. Buffy stared back at her, clearly losing patience with her, or more accurately, with Verity’s mother and her denials. 

Maybe she had a point. With Tanya and her head in the sand act, she was stalling them with time they couldn’t afford to waste. They didn’t know what Verity was doing now or where she might be. Buffy was right, it was time to move forward. 

“No joke,” she raised her voice over Verity’s mother, hardening her tone just enough that the woman stopped speaking, her fingers whitening against the door’s frame. “Please step aside, Ms. Catlett, and let us carry on with our job here.”

“You can’t just come into my home like this and make these kind of crazy accusations against my child! No, you’re not coming into my house!”

Faith raised an eyebrow, releasing an irritated exhalation.

“Right, that wasn’t a suggestion. Or an option either.”

She pushed the woman back, not with aggression or intent to hurt, but with enough force that Tonya gasped, stunned by the swiftness and ease that she had found herself suddenly several feet away from where she had intended to keep her feet planted. As Buffy followed Faith past the woman, eyes scanning their surroundings for any signs of Verity’s whereabouts and any potential threats she might have set out to hinder their progress, the girl of the hour herself entered the room, the very picture of wide-eyed youth and innocence in her demeanor. Faith noted that her wrist was wrapped in gauze and wondered if its bones had already started to set; damn that Slayer healing. 

“Mom?” Verity queried, blinking with exaggerated confusion and surprise as she turned her head from her mother to the women she had grown all too familiar with recently. “What’s going on? Is something wrong?”

Ah, so that was how she was playing it- all innocence, all ignorance. That seemed to be Verity’s specialty, and one that others fell for regularly and easily. Faith could appreciate the tactic. It made it much easier to keep track of lies when you just flat out denied knowing anything, rather than inventing details and stories. She wondered how Verity had explained the injured wrist to her mother. A fall from a tree? Bike accident? How much of Verity’s life with her mother was based on lies and hidden truths? Was there any true feeling or connection there at all?

It didn’t matter now. All that could be figured out and dealt with later, once Verity was safely in their hands and under their control. 

“Verity Catlett, we have a warrant here for your arrest,” Faith stated, looking the girl in her mock-innocent eyes with a hard, leveled stare. “We’re going to ask you to come with us now. I would recommend being cooperative.”

“Me? What are you talking about? Arrest me? What did I do?”

Tanya Catlett moved quickly to her daughter’s side, taking hold of her arms in a protective embrace from behind her. She nodded emphatically down towards Verity.

“Now you see her, now you see she’s just a child, she couldn’t be the person you’re looking for. This is a mistake, surely you see that now. My daughter isn’t-“

“Faith, this isn’t going to work, I knew this wasn’t going to work,” Buffy murmured, moving closer to speak into her ear. “Mom isn’t buying it. Come on, let’s get this over with.”

Striding over to the Catlett’s entwined frames, Buffy removed handcuffs from her belt, instructing Tanya Catlett to move aside. When the woman resisted, continuing to bleat out her view of her daughter’s innocence, Buffy started to struggle with her, attempting to extract Verity’s arms from her enough to handcuff her without breaking or hurting the woman in the process. Faith hurried to assist, even as Tanya screamed her outrage.

“This is unbelievable, how dare you come into my home and treat us like this! You can’t be following the law, what about my daughter’s rights, what about my rights as her mother?! Don’t you put your hands on her, don’t you touch her! I want to call a lawyer, you will not go against my daughter’s rights!”

“Ms. Catlett, let go of your daughter!” Faith hissed.

She pulled Tanya back from Buffy and seizing her in a bear hug. There was no way the woman would be able to escape, but she tried, bucking and wiggling against Faith’s hold of her. Faith ignored this, her attention and concerns with Buffy and Verity. Buffy had managed to snap one handcuff around one of Verity’s wrist, but Verity had pulled every trick in the book to avoid getting her to have access to the other. So far she had dropped heavily to her knees, trying to get Buffy to drop the handcuff, then punched her directly in the shin, with enough strength for Buffy to yelp, eyes watering. Nevertheless, she held onto her side of the handcuffs, leveraging the attached human towards the ground as she swung her arm down, hard.

Verity did go down, as Buffy had intended. Problem was she had landed directly on her free arm, the same arm Buffy was trying to get hold of with enough control to be able to attach it to the second handcuff. The way that Verity was lying made this difficult. With one hand still grasping the handcuffs and therefore assuring that Verity’s hand remained in them, Buffy only had one hand free to both defend herself and try to get Verity situated safely. She would not be able to sedate the younger Slayer even if she wanted to- she simply didn’t have enough hands. As Faith saw this, she made a quick decision as she judged the lesser of the two threats. 

Releasing Tanya with a push, she dropped beside Buffy and Verity on the ground. Grabbing the child’s shoulder, Faith worked with Buffy, assisting the blonde both in maintaining Verity’s position on the ground and also working to force her to roll off of her own arm. As they grabbled with her, she didn’t pay attention to Tanya, forcing in among the huddle around her daughter. As Faith succeeded in rolling Verity, forcing her hidden arm up and out for Buffy to cuff, she saw too late that the child had something slim and shiny grasped in her fist. Even as Buffy cuffed her second hand, Verity used her considerable strength to force her cuffed hands, the Slayer’s grasping hands attached to her arms, and the switchblade in her hands forward towards her mother, where she was bent over her daughter in anxiety and concern. With one brutal thrust, Verity stuck the blade deep into the hollow of her mother’s throat.

The chaos already present quickly multiplied with Verity’s raising of the stakes. Tanya began to choke on her own blood, sputtering and gagging through as her eyes bulged with her shock and intense pain. Her fingers splayed apart, twitching, as she attempted to cover the wound, to hold her blood inside her body, but this weak effort was useless. Her warm blood spurted through her fingers unchecked, splattering all three Slayers heavily. 

Faith grabbed Verity’s wrist and squeezed, forcing her to drop her grip on the blade, and tore it away from Tanya. Swearing, both she and Buffy threw the girl to the ground, on her stomach, jerking her now cuffed hands over her head and back behind herself with enough harshness to wrench muscles and sockets. Verity no longer fought them or protested the rough handling, not even when Buffy cuffed her ankles and then sat on her, making damn certain she would not and could not be getting back up of her own accord. In fact, even over the terrible wet cacophony of Tanya Catlett’s fight to breathe, Faith could hear Verity chuckling into the carpet, her slim shoulders shaking with completely incomprehensible enjoyment of the scene she had caused.

“What the hell is wrong with you, how the hell could you do that?” Buffy screamed at Verity, punctuating the words with several punches to the girl’s face. But to Faith, even from inches away, the other woman’s voice sounded distant and distorted. She had eyes and ears only for Tanya Catlett as she crawled to the fallen woman’s side, anxiously assessing the nature of the woman’s injuries.

Faith was no doctor, but she didn’t need even a third grade knowledge of anatomy to be able to understand that the woman was in bad shape. She was no Slayer, for one thing, unlikely to spontaneously heal herself without intensive medical assistance, and there was still a switchblade stuck several inches deep in her throat. Even if they left it in there until professionals could work on her, the possibility of it piercing an essential artery was high. And if she removed it, in her panic-

“No, don’t touch it, stop!” she cried as the woman’s shaking fingers clawed at the knife, instinctively trying to remove the object that was causing her such agony. Faith dove to stop her, pressing her own hands hard against the wound and swearing aloud when she realized her hasty gesture may have only caused the knife to press further into her throat. The suffering shining out from the woman’s tormented eyes made Faith draw in a sharp breath, her chest tightening up with grief and guilt. It was not the first time she had seen the terrified understanding of the dying, inches away from her own eyes, and just as every other time, she felt responsible. 

“I’m sorry,” she told Tanya helplessly, aware of the anger coloring her tone, but unable to shift it to a more gentle or comforting cadence. “I’m sorry…you’ll be okay, you’re gonna be okay. Fight this, don’t you give up on us! Come on, fight!”

But Tanya Catlett seemed to have no further fight left. When her eyes closed, her body going limp and pale as blood continued to spill, Faith estimated she had minutes left, if that. She had already lost consciousness. 

“Tranq Verity if you haven’t already,” she called to Buffy, making a quick decision. “She’s bleeding out, we’ve gotta call an ambulance. I can’t let go of her, you’re gonna have to make the call.”

Buffy didn’t respond immediately, seeming reluctant to let go of her grasp of Verity long enough to reach for anything, even a tranquilizer, regardless of Verity’s now secure restraints and her seated position on the girl’s back. Faith made a noise of impatience in her throat, glaring in her direction with a jerk of her chin towards Tanya.

“Buffy, come on, my hands are literally full of fucking blood, I need you to take care of Verity and make that damn phone call! Hurry, Buffy!”

“No point, she’ll be dead before you’ve finished the call,” Verity snickered. “She’s weak, always has been. Way too weak to last much longer.”

She only seemed to laugh louder when Buffy punched her in the back of the head, even though the force of the blow made her face bounce off the floor. Faith could definitely appreciate Buffy’s urge to hit out at her, and she wasn’t against it, when they had the time for it. But time was not something they had at the moment, and there were far more pressing priorities. 

“Buffy, the syringe!” Faith urged, taking one hand away from Tanya’s throat to gesture for emphasis. 

Mistake- blood came out all the faster, without the added pressure of her extra hand. As Faith hurriedly pressed it back down, Tanya’s body beginning to convulse beneath her, Verity continued to laugh, turning her head to the side against the carpet in an attempt to get a better view of her mother’s struggle. When Buffy reached for the syringes at her belt, she started to buck under her, forcing Buffy to brace herself and use her hands again to hold Verity down- and therefore making it impossible for her to get the syringe.

She needed Faith’s help, if they were going to have Verity unconscious with chemical assistance rather than just beating her into blacking out. But what with the woman rapidly bleeding out beneath Faith’s hands, Faith was far too occupied to be able to provide it. 

“I don’t want to waste the syringes, she’s not holding still!” Buffy ground out, her hair wild and half hiding her face as she struggled with the younger girl. 

Faith realized then the additional concern that Buffy had not said aloud. Even if she did manage to get hold of a syringe and still keep Verity facedown on the ground, with the girl moving like she was, it was likely she would simply scratch her with the needle rather than be able to fully inject the tranquilizer. It could squirt harmlessly into the carpet, or even end up poking Buffy herself, if Verity managed to kick or knock it just right. The solution was using the taser; it should stun her enough to allow time for Buffy to retrieve and properly use the syringes. 

But Buffy had her hands full, and so did Faith’s- and hers were literally full with a woman’s blood. The situation was again cascading out of control, and fast.


	22. Chapter 22

“I wouldn’t call anyone, if I were you, especially not 911,” Verity ground out, even as she rocked her body with all the force she could muster while face down on the ground with hands and feet handcuffed, making serious attempts to force Buffy off her or at least prevent her from having firm hold of her. “I mean, what do you think they’re gonna do, when they come in here and see a murdered woman with a handcuffed little girl nearby? Who do you think will get the blame- me, or you?”

Faith’s head swiveled towards her, vision briefly blurring as her already sparking anger expanded into a flare of rage. Forgetting about the tranquilizers, she barked back at Verity, even as she kept her hands pressed hard against Tanya’s bleeding throat. 

“You shut your fucking mouth, just shut the fuck up! How could you do this?! She’s your own mother, your fucking mother!”

Buffy grabbed Verity’s hair, yanking her head back hard enough for the girl to flinch, and punched her in the cheekbone, maybe in effort to “assist” Verity into silence, maybe just because it felt satisfying. Verity’s wriggling halted for the moment as she took the impact of a Slayer’s blow. With this added time given, Buffy fumbled for the taser, activating it firmly against the center of Verity’s back. The girl spasmed, gasping, and as Buffy tased her a second time for good measure, Faith almost cheered. 

Buffy replaced the taser on her belt, reaching for one of the syringes. But Verity chuckled again, sounding no less satisfied even as her words came out in gasps and her body lay limply beneath the older girl’s. 

“You know what they’ll see, don’t you? The police, the ER, whoever it is you’re planning on calling before you take me away? I didn’t do any of this. Not me. You know who they’ll say is responsible, you know who they’ll be going after? You. Both of you.”

“Yeah, I’m getting really tired of hearing you speak, I think it’s time for a nap,” Buffy declared. She uncapped the syringe in her hand, preparing it to descend, but Faith shook her head at her on impulse.

“Wait, Buffy, don’t, not yet,” she blurted. It was a mark of Buffy’s reflexes that she was able to jerk her hand to a stop, centimeters from the needle injecting Verity’s neck. “What is she talking about.”

“Faith, it doesn’t matter,” Buffy argued, not shifting her hands to give more space between Verity’s body and the needle’s tip. “It’s all talk, it doesn’t matter.”

But it could. Knowing Verity, it did- and if they continued to plunge forward blindly into Verity’s world, Verity’s territory, they would only continue to make mistakes others would pay for, possibly with their lives.

“No, it might,” Faith murmured, not taking her eyes off Verity. “What are you saying, Kitty? And make it fast, or I’ll send you into dreamland myself.”

“Well, when the police arrive, or the paramedics, whichever has the faster response time…they’ll see how things really are, of course,” Verity elaborated. Although she didn’t move, presumably very aware of the proximity of the needle to her back, she nevertheless managed to give off the impression of someone showing a careless shrug or head toss. “They’ll understand that I didn’t do any of this, I’m just the innocent victim. There will be records, of course, not to mention witnesses, showing that you kidnapped me from school after falsely impersonating social services, and took me into your custody under false pretenses and against my will. Then you physically assaulted me, resulting in my broken wrist. After I managed a brave and near miraculous escape, you stalked me to my home and broke into my house, after again impersonating others, this time police officers. After conning my mother, you stabbed her in the throat, murdering her in front of my eyes-“

“You lying little bitch,” Buffy hissed, giving Verity’s head a vicious yank backward by the hair. “None of this is true!”

Technically, some of it was. Just enough that it was possible that Verity was exactly right, that this would be the story law enforcement would believe. From what Faith had encountered of cops, they weren’t always the smartest people on the planet, and how much simpler would it be to believe Verity’s version of events over theirs? 

“Well, they’ll have a hard time believing that to be the case, since they’ll find your fingerprints on the knife you were stupid enough to touch, your DNA all over my mother, myself, and our home, and my mother’s blood spattered over you from very close proximity,” Verity shot back. “I’m sure they’ll have no trouble connecting the dots, especially with my hand guiding the pencil.”

Fuck, what if she was right? She had a point there.

“Thanks, but we’ll take our chances,” Buffy said coldly, pressing the tip of the syringe just a little more firmly into the girl’s back without yet actually piercing her skin. “Do you actually have anything to say that would help your mother have a chance of surviving, because otherwise it’s time for me to shut you up.”

Faith’s hands slid, slick and sticky with Tanya Catlett’s blood, even as she attempted to keep it inside of her body. She worried as the woman’s eyes bugged out if she was pressing too hard against her throat, if she was choking as much because of the pressure of a Slayer’s hands against her neck as because of the flow of blood, but it could not be helped. She could hardly take her hands away; the woman would probably die in seconds. Already she had gone deathly pale, even her lips taking on a bluish tinge, and her eyes rolled upward as she lost consciousness. Watching, Verity snickered, ignoring Buffy’s semi-question. 

“Oh, look, another murder you’re responsible for! Just like Giabella and the drunken bum!”

“You did this!” Faith spat out. “You did this and you’ll pay the price for it, Verity, I swear we’ll make it happen.” 

“No, actually, I won’t,” Verity countered, almost bored in tone. “For any of it. The other deaths, either, the ones you’re so sure I’m responsible for? Wrong again, those were you too. I’ll help them figure that out if they can’t do it on their own, but I’m sure it will be obvious, once they see how you killed my mother and tried to kill me, before I made my courageous and miraculous escape. Because I will, you know. You might think you have me now, and maybe you’re right, but you won’t keep me for long. I’m a Slayer, you said so yourself. What can you do with me even if I wasn’t, lock me up forever? I’m a kid, that’s illegal. So go ahead, do your thing. You’re still going to lose.”

With a sharp gesture, Buffy did as Verity had tauntingly invited, jabbing the tranquilizing syringe into her spine. Verity twitched slightly in response, moving her hands and feet in straining effort against her cuffs, but then went still and quiet. Buffy remained atop her for several moments, eying her suspiciously, and Faith couldn’t blame her. She half expected Verity to suddenly start wriggling and flailing as much as her limited mobility would allow again, catching Buffy by surprise, but the sedative appeared to have taken genuine effect. 

There was no time to take a breath of relief. Tanya’s already shallow breaths were growing shorter, the length between the rise and the fall of her chest lengthening, and as Faith registered this, her breathing stopped entirely.

“Buffy, she isn’t breathing!” 

Buffy looked down at Verity first, frowning as she ascertained that the girl was in fact not somehow in actual distress rather than simply unconscious.

“Yes she is, Faith, she’s just- oh!”

Scrambling to her feet and almost tripping over Verity’s in the process, Buffy hurried to Tanya’s hunched form, kneeling down beside Faith. She touched the woman’s chest in what Faith assumed was an attempt to hear if her heart was beating, then straightened, her features strained.

“Lay her flat on her back, and keep your hands over her wound. I’m going to try CPR.”

Faith followed her instructions, noting with anxiety that the woman’s skin was already cooling to the touch, possibly from the lack of blood still in her body. Buffy began to give her chest compressions, counting aloud, but as she bent awkwardly over her to give her mouth to mouth, the woman’s lungs didn’t fill with her effort. 

“I think your breath is just coming out her throat, it isn’t making it to the lungs,” Faith said tersely, shaking her head. “Is her heart beating?”

Buffy didn’t answer, repeating the cycle of chest compressions and efforts at breathing into her lungs several more times. Eventually she sat back heavily on her heels beside Faith, her shoulder knocking against her, but she seemed not to notice the overlap of space. Letting her arms drop down to her sides and lowering her head, Buffy exhaled somewhat shakily through her nose. She didn’t have to say anything for Faith to understand. Tanya Catlett had just become the latest of Verity’s victims.

Angry, frustrated tears burned in Faith’s vision before she willed them back, and she punched the floor, barely registering the sensation of the blow against her fist. Buffy stared down at her bloodied hands without attempting to wipe or cleanse them evenly partly. It would have been a useless effort; both Slayers were so drenched in Tanya’s blood that their skin would probably appear stained red even after being washed. Nevertheless, Faith tried, scrubbing her hands hard against her pants. It did little good, and what she did manage to rub off seemed to burn through the thin material so she could still feel it against her skin.

Without speaking, Buffy reached over to still Faith’s hands against her legs, covering them with hers. She squeezed lightly, then rubbed her palms against Faith’s, transferring some of the blood from her hands onto her own- making the distribution equal between them. It was an odd thing to do, but it was done in such a bittersweet, understanding manner that some of the heaviness lifted from Faith’s chest, just enough for her to be able to form words. 

“We can’t help her, Buffy.” 

She was looking at Tanya’s body as she spoke, but both she and Buffy knew whom she was really referring to. The dead woman’s daughter, though still very much alive, was still just as void of hope.

Faith had refused to believe it until now, refused to even consider the possibility that a human being could exist that was not redeemable. How could she believe that, when she and everyone else had once believed this about herself? How could she give up on the possibility of good in someone when someone had not given up on the possibility of good within herself? 

Maybe things would be different, if Angel stood here now instead of her and Buffy. Maybe as someone centuries removed from his own humanity, he knew or understood something about mortals that she and Buffy were too limited in their own knowledge and experience to see. Maybe his lack of humanity was exactly what was needed to see the humanity still dimly lit within Verity Catlett- and maybe this was what was needed to save her.

But maybe it wasn’t. Maybe in the time that it took to contact Angel, convince him to come to them, or transport Verity to him, Verity would manage to engineer one of her infamous escapes. Maybe she would take out other innocent lives in the process- possibly even Faith or Buffy themselves. 

Maybe she could still be saved, if not by Faith or Buffy. But for the first time, as Faith forced herself to truly consider every option- including the option of her failure on Verity’s behalf- she made herself acknowledge the logic behind Buffy’s earlier voiced conviction.

Even if it was possible to save Verity, Faith was no longer willing to take that risk. Not when other lives would likely pay the price. Not if losing Buffy, in whatever way that might occur, was a possible consequence. 

Her breath coming out in a shuddering exhalation, Faith shifted her gaze to Verity, letting her eyes linger over her. She let the weight of her decision settle fully, a heavy mantle of responsibility giving her body invisible but very present weight, as she spoke again.

“We can’t save her.”

Buffy nodded, the hand resting against Faith’s entwining their fingers in a gentle hold. She kept her gaze on Faith rather than Verity or her mother as she replied.

“I know. I know, Faith, but I didn’t want it to be true.”

Faith heard herself speaking, but the words sounded to her as though they were coming from a distance, unconnected to herself.

“I thought…if we tried hard enough, or cared enough…”

She didn’t finish the sentence. The words seemed too vulnerably raw to be spoken out loud, and it would take little insight for Buffy to understand what she had not said.

“It’s a hard lesson to learn,” Buffy murmured, her eyes still focused on Faith, averted from the still figures on the floor. “Every heroine starts off wanting to save everyone. Tame every dragon, rescue every damsel. But not everyone can be saved. Victim and villain both.”

Her hand slid slowly apart from Faith’s, though she did not shift her body away from her. Faith swallowed, tearing her eyes away from Verity with a jerk of her head. Her stomach lurched at the thought of what she knew must happen, as she tried to imagine just how it would come about.

“Buffy…I don’t want to do this.”

“Faith,” Buffy said quietly, almost sadly, but Faith shook her head, overriding her.

“I promised myself I would never kill another human being, Buffy. I swore on my own life that no matter what, I wouldn’t sink to that level again.”

“This is different.” Buffy’s words were careful as she took a step back from Faith, assessing her. “I know you don’t take this lightly, Faith, and neither do I. We shouldn’t. But this isn’t the same sort of thing as that.”

“No,” Faith agreed, the words soft and scratchy in sound. “It isn’t, exactly. But it’s close. Too close for me to feel the difference.”

She swallowed again, pressing her lips into a thin line, aware of tears standing in her eyes. This time she could not fully force them away, and she knew Buffy likely could see them shining, not quite released.

“I don’t want to do it, Buffy. I know it has to be done, but….”

She turned away, needing to present her back then as a wall against Verity, against her murdered mother, against the harsh, all too real knowledge that both she and Buffy harbored of the brutal action that was necessary. Biting down on the inside of her cheeks, she let her head drop forward, tensing her muscles against the storm of grief pressing against her chest. 

After several moments of silence, a light hand pressed against Faith’s back, causing its muscles to twitch in response. Even under the heavy, nauseatingly metallic scent of blood covering their bodies, Faith could smell the unique smell that was just Buffy, close by, and it was enough to give a measure of soothing before the other woman spoke.

“You won’t have to.”

Faith’s processing of her words was delayed; she was still attempting to puzzle out Buffy’s meaning when the Slayer pulled back, turning to face Verity’s still unconscious form. With slow, measured steps she approached her, standing over her for several moments before she knelt beside her on the ground. Faith watched, her brow furrowed, as Buffy’s eyes briefly flickered to the knife beside Tanya Catlett. But in the end, she did not choose it as her weapon. Instead, she took Verity’s head into both of her hands, and in one quick, efficient move, snapped her neck to the side, hard enough to sever its vertebrae. 

And then it was over, so much more quickly than it had all begun. One moment, Verity Catlett was a living, breathing person, a human being with endlessly complicated thoughts, memories, and intentions tucked away inside herself. A sister slayer, a present connection to themselves in a long chain of girls chosen now, then, and yet to be. In the next moment, she was just an empty shell, vacant of everything that had made her a person just a breath before. Verity Catlett no longer existed; all that was left of her was a body, joining the long list of the dead that the Slayers had encountered.

The threat that Verity had posed, the harm she had intended to inflict, was over now, ended before it could begin. The mission Faith had been sent on and recruited Buffy into was resolved, with only details of its aftermath to be managed now. But although they might acknowledge the mission as over, neither could ever view it as anything remotely resembling a success or triumph. 

With slightly unsteady legs, Buffy stepped back from Verity’s body, her eyes drifting up towards Faith’s. Her lips pressed together, suppressing any words that might have escaped her, and although her jaw was set, her shoulders straight, back erect with seeming confidence, her hazel eyes glittered, and a muscle in her cheek twitched with all the emotion she did not release. 

Taking her in, Faith’s thoughts emptied out, every word she attempted to speak drying up before they made it to the tip of her tongue. A feeling of shakiness born of unvented adrenaline and sorrow began to trickle though her, adding an odd weight to her chest and limbs, but Faith ignored it, taking one step forward, then another, until she had come to stand directly beside Buffy’s unmoving frame. When she lifted a halting hand, grazing it against Buffy’s arm, it overshot, brushing her hip rather than coming to rest against her wrist. Faith let the clumsy limb stay where it had landed, her fingertips lightly pressed against the curve of Buffy’s hip.

She wasn’t sure what the hell she was doing, and she didn’t dare make a guess about what it was that Buffy might want or need. But when Buffy’s breath released in a loud, shuddering exhale, and she closed her eyes, her hands reaching out blindly and grasping for Faith’s, Faith took them and stilled them, squeezing them hard in her own. Buffy’s body lurched forward, almost falling into hers, and as her face pressed down against Faith’s shoulder, Faith could feel the heat of slowly seeping tears against her skin. Pulling her hands free, she swallowed hard and gathered Buffy into her arms.

After a few moments of holding Buffy in silence, with Buffy’s hands awkwardly trapped between them, Buffy pulled them loose, wrapping her arms tightly around Faith’s waist. The Slayers held each other, giving each other the physical weight of the other’s strength until their rapid heartbeats began to slow, the tension of their muscles eased, and their last tears had shed. Even then, they hung on, reluctant to ease away just yet. 

Even after sources of evil were dealt with, after all, there was still the aftermath of deal with.


	23. Chapter 23

It was kind of scary, how easy it turned out to be to deal with the aftermath of murder without any civilians being remotely aware that any crime had occurred.

Some of it, course, was due to luck. Neither Verity nor Tanya had screamed or made a scene that would have called anyone’s attention to their house, and there had been no witnesses or suspicious neighbors calling in a domestic disturbance or intruder. The death scene itself, of course, would have been an obvious problem, except for the fact that having a powerful witch on their side of things certainly came in handy with problems like this. For Willow, it was a simple enough matter to deal with. From the horror she had shown at the level of carnage they were asking for her help in vanquishing, though, Faith was pretty sure they were going to be in the redhead’s debt for the next decade or two.

After a call to Giles and speaking extensively with him and Willow, it had been decided that she would teleport in directly to help them. Magical rather than human means were much easier and more effective in ridding the house of blood and scrubbing away whatever DNA Buffy and Faith had left behind that could potentially be used to connect them to the Catletts. Willow was able to accomplish in seconds what might have taken the Slayers days or never to achieve. She had then cast a spell that managed to break the Catletts’ bodies down into separate molecules, which she explained to the mostly uncomprehending Slayers as a form of “magical biodegrading.” Something about all matter being unable to be destroyed, but merely redistributed to join other things in its atmosphere. From what Faith gathered, the bodies and the knife Verity had used to stab her mother had been broken down into the invisible tiny atoms that made them up as solid beings, then all those little pieces had been send to attach to various other things in the atmosphere. 

Whatever. She just hoped that no part of Verity’s molecules had managed to reattach themselves to hers.

When she was finished, she hugged both Buffy and Faith, telling Buffy again how glad she was that she was rejoining them soon while also repeating Giles’s concern and admonition for them to take their time in returning to the academy. The Slayers had declined her offer to save them the time and expense of driving back in Faith’s rental car, and Willow had seemed to understand their desire for additional time and space before jumping back into a working capacity. By the time she gave them both a final hug and teleported out of the Catlett’s home, it was growing late, and it was decided between the Slayers that they would stay a final night at the hotel before beginning the journey back to Cleveland in the morning. 

It would probably take days, maybe a week, before anyone noticed that the Catletts were strangely, suspiciously absent, even with Tanya’s car still sitting in the driveway. By the time this was determined and confirmed, any memory neighbors might have of a strange car sitting in the driveway would be long gone, and the Catlett’s odd disappearance would remain little more than an unsolved mystery. 

There was little said between them, as Buffy and Faith made the brief drive back to the hotel for their final night in Fayetteville. Even had she felt the inclination to talk, Faith’s head had gone blank of its thoughts, a mirroring image to the hollow feeling of her heart. She didn’t try to read Buffy’s expression beside her. There was enough to process on her own for the time being, and she felt like nothing more than avoiding it for as long as her lack of thought and emotion could continue.

There was no discussion between them about whether they would remain in the same hotel room again, so Faith made the assumption that they would. She would have accepted it, if Buffy wanted a room of her own, or indicated that she needed the space and time to herself after what had happened. Hell, after what Buffy had put herself through, Faith would have given her anything and everything she could have asked for, whatever it might have taken to make it happen. But as they pulled into the hotel’s parking garage and began to make their way towards its entrance, Faith observed Buffy pulling the hotel key from her wallet, making no mention of needing another. 

It was just as well that Buffy hadn’t requested the space apart. Faith wasn’t sure how long her numbness could maintain, if she was left with no company but her own thoughts.

As they reached the door to their room and the door came to a close behind them, Faith realized that Buffy was eyeing her, her facial features tight and strained. How long had the woman been sneaking glances towards her without her noticing, and how long had she assumed Faith was giving her the cold shoulder?

“So, uh…back tomorrow,” Faith said awkwardly, feeling the need to break the quiet, to prove she was in fact not giving the silent treatment, and yet having no idea what it was she actually wanted or needed to say. “It’s not too bad a drive. You’ll meet everyone, figure out what your role can be. Which is probably whatever you want it to be, seeing that it’s you. You kinda jump ahead of the line, none of the trainings and assessments the newbies go through, so-“

“Please, don’t do that, Faith, anything but that,” Buffy interrupted, holding up a hand to stop her. Although her voice was quiet, there was a weariness to it, and something more, something almost vulnerable, that caught Faith’s attention and concern. 

“Please, let’s not pretend things are okay, or normal, or anything but whatever it is that they are now,” Buffy continued softly, when she saw that Faith was looking at her, listening with slightly widened eyes. “I lost the patience for beating around the bush or sparing people’s feelings for politeness’s sake sometime after the first five potentials showed up at my door last year. Please…don’t, not you.”

She pushed the tips of her fingers briefly against her temples, taking a breath, before letting her hand fall. “I know you have something you want to say to me, after…after today. It’s okay, Faith, just say it. Whatever it is…please.”

The words were not a challenge, or even a request. They were plea, said not with the irritation of someone looking for a fight, or even with an effort to understand, but rather with naked need for Faith’s honesty.

Faith would have kept to herself the question that had pressed itself in her brain almost as soon as Buffy spoke, the question she had been protecting herself from being conscious of right after it all had happened. But Buffy wanted to know her thoughts. Buffy had asked nothing else of her, and although her teeth ground together with her desire to keep the words inside, Faith forced them out regardless.

“Buffy…why? Why did you do it?”

Buffy’s brow furrowed, and her eyes dropped to the side. She took a breath, then focused her gaze back to Buffy, answering her in a quiet but firm tone. But as controlled and confident with herself as she sounded, Faith didn’t miss the spark of hurt mingled with frustration in her hazel eyes. 

“You know why, Faith. I did what was needed, what we both who had to be done. I get that it wasn’t how you wanted things to turn out. It wasn’t how either of us wanted things to turn out, but…I thought you understood what was needed, even if you couldn’t look at it in the same way. I thought you knew I was….that I wasn’t-“

“No, not that,” Faith stopped her hurriedly, shaking her head in response to Buffy’s misunderstanding of her question. “I-I know that. I do, Buffy, I…I do. I know it…it had to be done. I’m not getting on your case for doing it. I wouldn’t. I…I understand it. I respect you for it, Buffy. There’s…you get no judgment from me. You’re right, you know? You did what had to be done. You always do.”

She paused, wetting her lips, and swallowed hard against the sandpaper feeling of her throat. It would be easier, so much easier to leave it at that, to let the rest of her thoughts remain unsaid. But Buffy had asked her to speak, needed for her to, and Faith could not deny her what she needed, especially now.

“It’s just…what I meant was…what you did. Ending Verity. You did it, not me. Even though…even though it was my job. Even though I asked for your help, I brought you into this, when it wasn’t really your problem. Even though it should have been me, following through, no matter how much I didn’t want to, or how much it hurt, or how much it fucked me up inside. It should have been me, because it was my mission, and my problem. It was my responsibility,” she said with some self-directed savagery, jabbing her thumb roughly into her own chest for emphasis. 

When Buffy opened her mouth to object, or perhaps to comfort, Faith held up her hand, letting her eyes shift aside while she gathered back control. Letting her hand fall down after a couple of moments, she swallowed, bringing her gaze back up to Buffy with some difficulty.

“I know, you’re gonna say it was yours too, once you committed. But I didn’t have to bring you into it. This didn’t have to be your problem, your headache, or blood on your hands. But you took it on as all that. You did what I wouldn’t…what I couldn’t. You finished the job. I wasn’t asking why you did what you did. I understand that. What I don’t understand is…you did it for me, didn’t you?”

Faith’s voice dropped, the words faltering slightly. She took an unconscious step towards the other woman, her arms loose at her sides. 

“Ending Verity. I mean…I know, you did it because it was what was needed, and for people’s safety, and whatever. But the main reason…it wasn’t for the victims, or the world, or even for Verity herself. You did it for me. And I…Buffy, I don’t understand why. Why would you add more pain into your life that you don’t have to put there…for me?”

Buffy started to speak, then stopped herself. Faith waited, apprehensive, even when the woman took a step towards her, standing closely enough then to be able to reach out and touch her, if she chose.

“Faith…how could you ask me that?” 

“You told me to say what I was thinking,” Faith pointed out, a hint of defensiveness bridling her tone. “I said it, too late now to ask me to take it back.”

“No, that’s not what I mean,” Buffy sighed, a flicker of a wry smile ghosting over her lips, gone as soon as sighted. “I don’t know how we can understand so much now but still misinterpret even more.”

She touched Faith’s arm lightly, letting her fingertips brush against its skin before putting the full pressure of her palm.

“I’m asking you how you could still not understand, how you could feel you don’t know the answer. Faith, you’re right. Of course I did it for you. I’d do it again, if I had to, or if you needed it. I’d do it, for you, because it’s you, Faith. Okay?”

She paused, making sure that Faith was looking directly into her eyes, then repeated herself, quiet but intense. “Because it’s you.”

Faith stilled, shocked into motionlessness. Her once empty brain flooded with a tumble of conflicting questions and impulses, and her skin flushed as her heartbeat quickened with her new surge of intense feeling. Above everything, she felt exposed, entirely open and defenseless to Buffy’s words, touch, and gaze. Yet as scary as this was, somehow, it was not unwelcome, not entirely. Not when Buffy took another step towards her, reaching out to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear with gentle fingers. Not when Buffy looked at her with a softness Faith rarely witnessed in her, or when Buffy’s hand remained pressed with soothing pressure against the nape of her neck as she continued to speak.

“I’m not very good at showing people how I feel, sometimes, let alone saying it. It…it always seems like it’s dangerous, somehow, like saying it out loud makes it too real, or makes it too easy for it to be taken away. I’ve lost a lot of people I love, Faith, and sometimes it feels like adding in more people to care about, or acknowledging how important to me are the ones I still have, I’ll end up putting a target on them too. The Buffy Summers curse.”

“Not the Buffy curse,” Faith murmured, her head dipping into a faint acknowledgement and understanding of Buffy’s words. “The Slayer curse.”

“Yeah, I guess that’s it,” Buffy gave her a small smile, nodding back, her hand shifting slightly against Faith’s neck. “The Slayer curse. She alone, and all of that. Those Watchers put way too much emphasis on that part.”

She exhaled, lifting her hand off of Faith. Faith barely had time to register and regret the lack of contact before Buffy took one of Faith’s hands into her own, tapping lightly until Faith’s fingers opened and accepted hers. Faith felt a spark pass between their joined palms, somewhat greater than static electricity in its intensity, not quite painful, but vibrant in energy.

“I could give you a million reasons why I took the final…task…of Verity over for you, Faith,” Buffy continued quietly.

Faith had almost forgotten they were even talking about that; Buffy’s proximity and touch were pretty distracting. But it was important for Buffy to explain, and for Faith to understand, so she focused, listening closely. 

“But I’ll just give you the important ones. Number one being, because it would hurt you to do it, no matter what you told yourself about it afterward. Because you would blame yourself for it, and judge yourself for it, and you’ve had enough pain and self-loathing already. We both have. Because I want to take that from you, so we can both move forward.”

“Buffy,” Faith started, her voice soft, but Buffy squeezed her hand, talking over her.

“Because you deserve to have the easier choice with this. Because I see how you’ve proven yourself, your intentions, and your heart to me, and how you’ve grown further from where you started out than I think even you thought was possible. Because…because you’ve become the only person in my life that I see being a little bit like me, the only one who can understand some of the things I feel, or who I am. Because you’re the only person who’s walked anything like my path, even if our roads were different in route and details.”

She paused, searching Faith’s features, as her thumb slowly rubbed over the back of Faith’s hand. 

“Because I know you would do the same thing for me, or far worse things, if you had to, even if you knew I would never be willing to return the favor. Because I know and trust you would do anything for me if I needed it, even if I never asked, and not regret it for a second. Because…because I know now that you love me, Faith. That you’ve always loved me, even if I didn’t always understand or acknowledge that, or, or, appreciate it, before-“

“Buffy,” Faith burst out with, more urgently than before, but Buffy pressed a finger against Faith’s lips, determined to finish without interruption everything she felt she needed to say.

“No. No, don’t, Faith, just listen. Everything I said, it’s what I feel, and what I know. It’s true, and I could add in a lot more. Like that you’re beautiful and smart, and strong in all the ways that physical strength doesn’t matter or count with, but, but even though that’s important, and it matters, that isn’t why I did it for you. It’s just because it’s you. I did it…I did it for you, Faith. Because it was what you needed. Because I want to give you what you need.”

It was everything that Faith had ever wanted to hear, everything she had never dared to believe could hers. It felt surreal, mistaken, something she was not entitled to claim or trust in- and yet Buffy was looking into her eyes, her free hand rising up to lightly touch her cheek. It could not be real, it could not be happening, not to Faith Lehane. And yet her heart hammered in uneven thrums, her cheeks warmed against Buffy’s cool skin, and her eyes blinked back moisture threatening to overflow, and Buffy leaned close, her face the only thing left in Faith’s view, all that mattered then in her world.

“So, tell me, Faith Lehane…what do you need from me now?”

Faith’s lips parted, her knees weakening, and her instinctive and immediate response poised at her tongue. Still, the words did not emerge immediately, could not, after so long of being restrained from being said openly rather than merely insinuated and joked with. Buffy held her face in her hands, close enough that Faith felt her breath against her skin as she repeated herself in a whisper.

“Say it, Faith. Tell me. What is it that you need now?”

In between ragged breaths, Faith’s answer came, broken in its sincere emotion.

“You. It’s always been you, Buffy. Just you.”

Buffy’s hand cupped Faith’s jaw with a nearly bruising grip, and her lips crashed against Faith’s, open, forceful, and intent. Her free arm hooked itself around Faith’s waist, pulling her close against her, and as Faith kissed her back, every thought in her head fell away, and the world and all reality narrowed into nothing but her and Buffy and every part of her body that could bring itself into contact with hers. 

They kissed each other with ferocity, touched each other with roughly grasping hands, pulling fingers, and scratching nails that might have looked alarming, to an outsider without their strength and endurance at his or her disposal. As Buffy’s teeth and lips worked their way with urgent but skilled pressure down Faith’s throat, Faith felt as well as heard her panted words against her skin.

“Then…you can have me. Faith…you can have me.”

There was no need nor time for them to cross the room to the bed, not when the length of the floor was there to fall down on, or with walls close by to press backs against for support. Clothes were torn off as soon as they interfered with touching bare skin, bodies arched and strained and pressed into each other with feverish need to maintain continued contact, to build pleasure between them into higher and higher peaks. 

Throughout the night, they left no inch of each other’s bodies untouched, no point of pleasure left unexplored, and the Slayers’ energy and libido only seemed to spike higher with each discovery of themselves and each other. When they began to slow at last, it was due not to diminished desire, but rather because their limbs had finally grown too shaky to fully control their movements any longer. 

Breathing in heavy, but nevertheless still excited gulps of air, the Chosen Two came to a rest, heads bowed together, bodies slick with sweat, legs and arms overlapped in ease with each other’s proximity. They did not speak; the steady, synchronized beating of their hearts, the loosened set of their muscles, and their involuntary smiles of weary, awed content spoke of all that needed to be said. They fell asleep not quite entwined, but relaxed into each other, empty of any thoughts or feelings beyond the woman at their sides. 

Tomorrow would begin a new chapter in their lives, with Verity’s death and its aftermath, the reunion of Buffy with their friends, and her addition into the academy as she fitted herself back into her former life. And yet it would be different now. The Chosen Two had at last chosen each other, and no matter what hardships and suffering might still remain to be, they would choose to face it at each other’s sides. 

End


End file.
